Tear It Up
by The Petulant Prodigy
Summary: College, cars, street-racing, sex, and smut. College art student Ichigo Kurosaki meets a blue-haired delinquent mechanic and his crew. Dramatic, angsty, humorous calamity ensues?  GrimmIchi. AU Yaoi Swearing Smut Violence.
1. Curious

**May 10, 2012. Finally cleaned this piece up and fixed a lot of horrible mistakes. Apologies. I'm back into this universe and will be finishing it as soon as I am able. Enjoy.**

**I started this fic forever ago, but I remember the basis for creating this: suffering through some college classes, loving my art classes (as you will see with Ichigo), and watching Fast & the Furious way too many times, so there will be some dropped references as the F&F world is all I will ever claim to know about cars or racing. The image of Grimmjow as an anime Dom was just too much for my puny brain to resist. -TPP**

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**Tear It Up**

**Chapter 1: Curious**

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The last person in the world Ichigo Kurosaki would have pegged for a knight in shining armor was a delinquent from the automotive program at Karakura University. Ichigo had heard rampant rumors about the blue-haired beast: he was infamous for being cold, quiet, and deadly as a wild cat of the jungle. His cobalt blue eyes shined with barely-controlled chaos, both beautiful and fierce as he stood feet away from the situation Ichigo had found himself in thanks to his best friend Shinji.

"Didn't'cha hear me, Blueberry?" Senior Renji Abarai taunted, his outrageous red hair pulled back into his classic ponytail, his various tribal tattoos making him look more menacing than he actually was. Ichigo knew Renji was one thing and one thing only: a bully. A bully with a big mouth. He tended to pick on whatever student had the balls to challenge him or talk back to him, but his favorite activity was beating the shit out of members of the gay community.

But no one knew that Ichigo was gay. He was currently getting his ass kicked beside his best friend Shinji, who happened to be what many would consider a "flaming gay." Shinji was currently wearing skin-tight dark jeans with a baby pink top, a rainbow wristband proudly proclaiming a giggle-worth phrase "_Eat More Dick_". Ichigo didn't even want to know where Shinji had found it; he might as well have tattooed _**"BEAT ME UP"**_ on his forehead for all the chaos it was causing the both of them now.

_Let's Rewind..._

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"What'cha lookin' at, faggot?" Renji sneered, calling across the common lawn to Shinji who had been sitting cross-legged on a free bench.

Ichigo had been sitting at his side, listening to a rather engrossing story about Shinji's adventures at a gay bar during the weekend, when they had been rudely interrupted by Renji's less-than-subtle invitation to an inevitable fight. Of course both of them had given a quick glance at Renji and his little posse of assholes, but it had been a quick glance that had confirmed everything the two had needed to know: trouble was in their presence.

But of course Shinji was one to never back down from a challenge and his mouth was notorious for getting him into trouble, "Your ugly-ass shirt. It totally clashes with that skanky mop of red Koolaid you call hair."

"Wha'd'you say, queer?" Renji bellowed, already making his way towards the two friends, three of his cronies trailing behind him with knowing smirks on their faces.

Shinji shook his head, making a tsk-ing noise, "Ugly _and_ dumb? Well at least you got a cute ass to make up for it."

"Shut up Shinji," Ichigo ordered, shoving his best friend in the shoulder before facing Renji's wrath, "Look, we don't want any trouble. Just ignore him."

"Can't do that, berry," Renji said, addressing Ichigo before his eyes turned back on Shinji, "not until I teach this little asshole a lesson."

"I doubt there's anything you can teach me or my tight asshole," Shinji shot back, rolling his eyes.

Damn it, sometimes Ichigo just wanted to kill Shinji.

"Just apologize," Ichigo hissed, now standing up from the bench to stand between Renji and Shinji.

"Get outta the way," Renji said, shoving Ichigo's shoulder quite hard, "unless you want me to beat the fag out of you too."

"You're gonna beat somethin' out of me?" Shinji antagonized, practically leering at the angry delinquent, "_Oooh_, promises promises!"

"Fuck you!" Renji bellowed, pushing forward and grabbing Shinji by the collar roughly and pulling him forward.

Instead of pissing his pants, Shinji cackled with laughter, "But you're really not my type!"

God, Shinji had chosen today of all days to be a fucking comedian. Worried for his idiot friend's safety, he grabbed Renji's shoulder, trying to pry him off, "Hey man, come on, he's just kidding-"

_Pow._

The blow stunned Ichigo, making him fall back a few steps, but keeping his balance. Renji's goons howled with laughter and praise, the one named Ganju grabbing Ichigo's arm and twisting him out of the way as Shinji started cursing.

"Get out," Ichigo murmured, completely enraged, "of. _My. **Way.**"_

The air left Ganju's lungs in a whoosh as Ichigo's powerful, karate-trained leg came up for a cheap shot to the gorilla's testicles. He dropped like a rock, his face composed like a dead fish as he floundered on the ground.

Renji pulled back from Shinji, his fist mid-air as he surveyed the damage done to his friend, "Heh, didn't know ya knew how ta fight, Strawberry."

"Back off," Ichigo threatened, moving to a fight-ready stance from years of training.

Renji grinned, laughing, "I think I can handle two fags."

Oh _hell_ no.

Before Ichigo could comprehend what was happening, he felt the stone-hard bone of his ankle connect with the redhead's face, his arms offering balance as he pivoted around for a clean roundhouse kick. His old sensei would be so proud.

Before Renji had a chance to recover and before the one unhurt idiot reacted, Ichigo grabbed Shinji's wrist and pulled him from the bench and launched across the common lawn, running like his ankles were on fire.

"That was awesome, Ichi!" Shinji praised, giggling maniacally as they ran together, "You're so awesome!"

"Shut up!" Ichigo yelled, realizing Renji and the others were now pursuing the accused gays, "This is all your fault! You and your stupid mouth!"

Shinji just giggled some more, knowing if he had made another sexual innuendo, Ichigo wouldn't hesitate to beat him within an inch of his life, "Sorry, Ichi."

They rounded the Humanities building, weaving through a few wandering students and plenty of wooden benches. Ichigo's breath nearly left his chest as he realized in his haste he had made them run south, away from the crowded common hall and parking lots. There was nothing south but the old science building, a dilapidated dorm, and the garage units used for the automobile industry students. What were they going to do? Hide behind an old tire?

"Fuck," Ichigo murmured as he felt 200 pounds of muscle slam into him, both of them making an oofing noise as they flopped into the grass.

"Caught'ya!" Renji crooned, locking his arms around Ichigo's neck and tugging him around so that he was on his back, Renji looming over him like a god of war, "Should'a left when ya had the chance."

Ichigo refused to cry out as Renji's fist slammed into his face. He wouldn't give the bully that satisfaction. He wiggled and wormed underneath Renji's weight: he had to have been at least forty to fifty pounds heavier than him, and it didn't help that Renji was captain of the university's wrestling team. Of course THAT had been the reason Shinji had gotten a black eye last semester by suggesting that Renji had joined the team simply to wrestle and pin down sweaty attractive men.

And here Ichigo had gone and gotten himself involved for friendship, and his face was paying for it.

"You're all losers!" Shinji cried, practically sobbing as Renji's friends began kicking him. He could do nothing but ball himself up, trying to protect his head as feet connected with ribs, hips, and ankles, "Stupid, goddamn losers!"

"Shut up, faggot!" the boy named Ikkaku growled, grabbing Shinji's blonde hair and tugging on it with enough force to make Shinji scream, "before I put that mouth to better use!"

"He'd probably like that, the sick fuck," Renji added, his hands now wrapping around Ichigo's throat and pushing down, "probably has a hard-on right now, so many fuckin' men on him right now."

"Ichi!" Shinji screamed, looking over and seeing Ichigo gasping and kicking frantically as his air supply had been cut off, "Let him fucking go! You're gonna kill him!"

"Let the kid go."

Ichigo's eyes had been in danger of rolling back in his head when the grip was lost completely. He gagged, breathing in deep lungfuls of air as he rolled sideways as Renji's weight left his body completely. He had stood up, his stance menacing as he stared at the sorry idiot who had interrupted all of his fun.

"And who the fuck are you?" Renji snarled, staring at the student who had stood up to him.

Everybody had stopped; even Shinji was keeping his mouth shut as they all turned and stared at the male who had potentially saved Ichigo's life.

Ichigo continued to wheeze as he tried to return his lungs to normal, still lying in the grass as he stared up and over to his savior.

The student was dressed in ripped jeans smeared in what looked like motor oil, a white wife beater sculpted to his torso, leaving little to the imagination as to how fit and ripped the boy was. His tan skin was sun kissed and slick with sweat, his arms at his sides as his cobalt blue eyes stayed locked on Renji's. His thick blue hair was pushed back off of his forehead, slightly wet as if he had dunked his head in the sink after spending hours in the garage working on a car. Perhaps that was exactly why it looked that way, and Ichigo unknowingly licked his lips at the rumored delinquent. He was gorgeous, deadly, and sexy as sin, three things Ichigo had always taken care to avoid.

"Didn't'cha here me, Blueberry?" Renji taunted.

The boy didn't move, didn't flinch, just kept that commanding stare on Renji, making Renji finally snap, "Ya need me ta beat some sense into you too?" Renji nodded at Ikkaku and Ganju, both of them tentatively approaching the interfering student.

Grimmjow looked at them as if he were utterly annoyed, as if he were about to reprimand small children for misbehaving. It was almost a frown but there was hope in those startling blue eyes as he loosened his grip on something that had been blocked behind his forearm, falling into view for all to see.

He was holding a rather mean-looking, long-armed wrench, his eyes and stance screaming _'If ya got balls, come and get some'._

The two goons looked from the wrench up to his face, then back at Renji. Obviously this bluenette was not fucking around. Perhaps the rumors were true about his criminal record.

"Che, whatever," Renji said, his voice wavering slightly as he took a few steps back, "I have all the time in the world to make these faggots' lives miserable."

Grimmjow shifted his weight to his other leg, the hand that held the wrench turning nearly white as he gripped it harder, "This is the part where you either run or bleed. I suggest you take option number one before I lose my patience."

"Yeah yeah," Renji said, beginning to walk away with Ganju and Ikkaku in tow, "Next time on my turf, Jaegerjaques."

Ichigo almost shivered at the mention of the auto student's last name. Yeah, he had heard it whispered throughout the campus. The only thing Ichigo knew for a fact was that he was a transferred junior studying mechanical engineering. The word was his old man had kicked him here after he had been released from his six-month stay in prison for assault and battery. Staring at him now, Ichigo wasn't sure if that particular rumor was true or not, but he could see why so many students avoided him. He seemed to exude power, quietly deadly like a grenade. Ichigo had seen him several times walking on campus with his crew, everybody scattering like ants when he came within hearing distance. It was like he was wrapped in barbed wire, untouchable, but his crew followed him loyally, like he was gravity.

"Anytime, Abarai," the mechanic said, only approaching the sprawled boys when Renji and his goons had moved off enough to be almost dots.

"Th-thanks," Shinji mumbled, standing up with a wince when Jaegerjaques offered him a hand.

The stranger moved on to Ichigo, who was staring up at his savior like an idiot, his mouth finally moving to close as he tried to break contact with those penetrating eyes.

"You alright?" he husked, his arm descending, his palm up and inviting. Ichigo's fingers grazed over the calloused palm, a bolt of warmth shooting through his spine at the contact. Strong fingers gripped his hand as he helped hoist Ichigo up to stand. Ichigo instantly felt dizzy and stumbled sideways, knowing he was falling but helpless to stop it as he felt his gut clench like he might throw up.

Toned, muscled arms caught him as he stumbled again, helping him back down to the grass to sit up, "Just relax, kid. He knocked you good."

Ichigo lifted a hand to press against his throbbing cheek, hissing slightly as he pulled his fingers back to reveal some blood. In Ichigo's opinion, Renji had a terrible punch, but he had gotten lucky a few times. Ichigo shuddered to think what would have happened if Renji weren't such a good wrestler and a better fighter, "Ow."

"You okay Ichigo?" Shinji whined, both of his hands on his left hipbone, his face free of any damage. At least that was something to be thankful for.

Ichigo nodded slightly, waving off his friend's concern, "I'm good."

"Come with me," Jaegerjaques ordered, standing up and turning, not bothering to wait and see if the boys would follow him. Of course they would: they were almost compelled to, and to be honest, they were both curious. They had never been within seeing distance of the garages, much less given a chance to see the insides.

Shinji followed at Ichigo's side as they trampled through the grass, which finally gave way to rubble and concrete as they approached several large buildings about the size of high school gyms. They passed the first five, Jaegerjaques not stopping until he reached the rolled-up steel door of the garage marked with gigantic, black letter sixes. He nodded at the entrance and disappeared inside, Ichigo and Shinji following.

Both tried to ignore the bodies of cars inside the shop, but some were just too impressive to pass by without least gaping a little. There was the sound of someone working on a hydraulic system. Ichigo actually stopped when he saw sparks flying about twenty feet away from them, a masked student carefully working with a blowtorch on a piece of metal that somehow belonged to the car. Ichigo and Shinji were both red-blooded males, but neither knew anything about cars other than how to drive and park them.

Grimmjow opened a normal-sized door and stepped through, ushering the two boys in as he flipped a light switch and illuminated what looked like a break room. Two black leather sofas faced each other with a metal coffee table between which held a recently-used ash tray and a massacred deck of playing cards and a discarded candy bar wrapper. A kitchenette graced the corner while one entire wall was devoted to manuals, magazines, and textbooks stacked on sturdy-looking metal racks. It smelled faintly of oil, coffee, and cigarette smoke, but the place actually looked comfy. Ichigo supposed this was their break room, a chance to get some air conditioning or grab some lunch before going back to work on their student masterpieces. Ichigo didn't quite understand how the auto program worked at the university, but it seemed like quite a sweet set up to be able to get away with all this.

The bluenette opened the freezer door of the refrigerator, pulling out an ice pack and tossing it to the berry. Ichigo fumbled but didn't drop it, settling it against his throbbing cheek and nearly sighing with contentment. It felt amazing, "Thanks."

The bluenette just nodded, opening the main fridge and pulling out some water bottles and holding them out to the beaten friends. They took them gladly, thanking him under their breaths. Even though the kid had saved them, the situation seemed forced and awkward. Ichigo could tell this was a guy that wasn't accustomed to small talk, but he had saved them, so he had to be a good person. Right?

The bluenette approached Ichigo, making his breath hitch as his large hands gingerly touched Ichigo's neck. For a second, he didn't know whether to pull back or allow those hands to continue. His skin felt like it was on fire as Grimmjow's fingers gently traced the damage.

"You'll be black and blue for a while, but no real damage," he murmured, finally removing his hands. Ichigo took another shaky sip of water, trying to banish the blush and straying thoughts in his mind.

"Thanks for helping us back there," Shinji finally said, always the more sociable of the two friends, "Renji's such an ass. Can't take a joke."

"No, he can't," Grimmjow said, folding his arms over his chest and leaning back against one of the counters, "So unless you're a masochist, don't joke. Neanderthals like him love the attention."

Ichigo had chugged nearly half of his water by this point, trying to think of something to say. For some reason, staring at the rumored-delinquent made his tongue feel swollen and stupid. Of course he had seen Jaegerjaques from a distance plenty of times, but never this close. He fought a lump in his throat as he studied the bluenette from the tips of his boots to the tips of his natural blue hair.

It was only after trying to sneak a peek at the boy's eyes that Ichigo realized his gaze was locked onto the berry.

Ichigo felt himself tense, lowering the water bottle from his mouth at the intense gaze. Was he trying to convey emotion like that, or were his eyes just that deep? "We appreciate what you did for us. We owe you one, Jaegerjaques."

"Grimmjow," the bluenette offered, his eyes roaming Ichigo's body quickly and making him blush. It had been too quick to be a checkout, and Ichigo was an idiot if he thought there was even a one percent chance that this stud was interested in him, "Call me Grimmjow, and I'll call you Ichigo."

For a second Ichigo thought Grimmjow was psychic, then remembered Shinji had said his name earlier back in the field when he had fallen. So it wasn't cosmic-all-knowing-love-at-first-sight. Drat.

Ichigo started nodding like an idiot, internally chastising himself for staring so much at Grimmjow. Why couldn't he stop staring?

Oh, yeah. He was fucking _attracted_ to him.

Ichigo had known from an early age about his sexual preference. It hadn't exactly been a mystery when he had come to the age of sexual virtual exploration. Porn had been on every boy's mind when Ichigo had gone through puberty, so he had shrugged and jumped into the phenomena with his other male friends. Several gay porn sites and a chat group later, Ichigo had come to the conclusion that he was certifiably gay. Plenty of girls had crushed on him, asked him out, or dropped subtle bombs on him to pursue them, but he had never reacted to any of them. Every boy (and some girls) in his high school had practically disowned him when he had told Orihime Inoue not so gently to stop trying to rub her ridiculously huge breasts on him at every given opportunity. To be honest, Ichigo found them rather gross. He used to have nightmares about the globes of fat smothering him to death, screaming him awake only to have his goat-faced father rush in, thinking someone was trying to murder his only precious son. Oh the memories.

But Ichigo had never acted on his instincts, too afraid of how his classmates would react to finding out such news. The only friend he had ever confided in was Shinji, who had been openly gay since the age of five. Shinji was about as subtle as a bull in a china shop when it came to self-acceptance and embracing one's individuality, blah blah blah. Ichigo loved his friend to death, loved him enough to suffer the occasional name-calling or innuendos. Ichigo had even dated a girl for a few months named Rukia to get people to leave him alone, but it had been extremely rocky considering Ichigo had felt nothing for her but friendship. He had eventually caved and told her, and instead of being insensitive, she had gotten really creepily happy and hugged him a lot, telling him it was okay and that his secret was safe with her. A week later, a Chappy the Bunny gift-wrapped box had been waiting for him at his house. He had opened it to find a very nice but small collection of yaoi boy love manga, a note from Rukia telling him to cheer up and enjoy his calling. Ichigo hadn't known whether to cry from embarrassment or happiness. From that day forward, Ichigo had made a conscious effort to see and date boys in extreme secrecy, but he hadn't had a relationship since the beginning of his freshman year of college, and now he was a lonely second-year, having nearly daily daydreams that a cute male student would lose his mind and take the willing berry. He wanted love, yeah, but he also wanted to get laid.

Shinji's voice broke Ichigo out of his internal reverie, "And my name's Shinji, by the way, in case you were wondering."

Grimmjow looked at him a second, as if he had forgotten the tall, slender blonde was there, "Shinji Hirako, right?"

Shinji's tone had been satirical, but now his face lit up like a Christmas tree, "The one and only! You've seen my work?"

Grimmjow nodded his head once, "My girl Halibel told me she models for you."

Shinji practically squealed as he began to gush, "Oh you know Harribel? She's my favorite! She's absolutely _flawless_, trust me, if I were straight, I'd-"

Ichigo clamped a hand forcefully over Shinji's mouth, giving him a stern look, "Shin, you shouldn't talk about people's girlfriends like that."

"Oh," Shinji realized, looking back at Grimmjow with a sheepish grin, "you don't have to worry about me, especially when she has a hot piece like you! She's a lucky girl!"

Ichigo's blush was in danger of eating his face as Shinji rambled. God, sometimes Ichigo couldn't believe how straightforward and sociable Shinji was. He just didn't have a filtering system; some people found it endearing while others chased him with pitchforks.

Grimmjow snorted, drawing Ichigo's attention, "She's like a sister to me. Thanks but no thanks, Shin."

Shinji beamed at the nickname, while Ichigo felt less tense. He took another breath, feeling refreshed. Why was he so relieved that Harribel wasn't dating Grimmjow? That didn't mean Grimmjow was rooting for their side of the team, far from it. He probably didn't have one girl, he probably had several girls…

"Well then who's the lucky lady?" Shinji said, wiggling his eyebrows as he took a sip from his water bottle, "Don't tell me you're chivalrous, hot, _and_ single."

Ichigo watched Grimmjow carefully, hoping Shinji wasn't offending him with his abrasive flirting techniques. Shinji was Shinij: Ichigo knew he was just being friendly, but sometimes Shinji's idea of friendly was offensive.

Grimmjow had been looking at Shinji but his eyes flitted to Ichigo again as he said, "I don't have anybody right now."

Ichigo suddenly felt like his heart was going to beat right out of his chest. Could he dare hope? Ichigo immediately discarded the thought when he thought about how many rumors were flying around: plenty of girls were drawing out jealousy in other girls by commenting that they had gone somewhere with Grimmjow, some even bold enough to admit that they had slept with him. Another rumor Ichigo was dying to find out: Grimmjow was notorious for one-night stands of passion, according to half the student body. Apparently badass, sexy delinquents with a mysterious past were hot this season and in high demand. No matter how much smack people talked about him, girls still wanted to sleep with him and boys wished they could be him. Ichigo wondered if even Renji was jealous of this guy, and Ichigo knew from how he had acted in the field that he was at least scared of Grimmjow, which was a good start.

"Are you looking for anybody?" Shinji asked innocently, although Ichigo knew better than to assume anything Shinji asked or thought was completely innocent, "because Kami knows that love doesn't just _fall into your arms_."

Ichigo resisted the urge to deck Shinji in the face. Ichigo, after years of being friends with Shinji, knew that Shinji was implying Ichigo's stumbling spell in the field. It would be instant gratification for that snarky little coded statement to break Shinji's face, but Ichigo would feel like shit later. Shinji had had enough beatings for one day.

"I think we should go," Ichigo growled, setting the ice pack down on a table, grabbing Shinji by his collar and nearly dragging him towards the door, "Thanks again, Grimmjow."

"See you around."

"_See you around_," Shinji whisper-giggled, poking Ichigo when they were away from the door and out of earshot.

"Shut up," Ichigo warned, slapping at Shinji's poking finger, "Let's go, I need a shower."

"A cold one, I bet," Shinji grinned, scampering next to him as they headed towards the blazing sunshine outside of the large open garage door, "He was absolutely _edible_, wasn't he? _Totally_ your type!"

Shinji yelped as someone slid out in front of them from beneath one of the stripped cars on a mechanic's creeper. Long, jet black hair was trailing over the ground, a white bandana tied around his head, hiding one violet eye as he leered up at the two boys, laughing, "Sorry, did I scare ya?"

Both boys shook their heads no, trying to make sense of the foreign creature at their feet as he pulled himself completely out from underneath the car he had been working on and stood to his full height, towering over both of them easily. His grin was large and to be honest, scared Ichigo a little bit, "What're ya doin' here? Ya little fruits lost?"

Of course, to counter the stranger's remark about being gay, Shinji scoffed and cocked his hip to the side, a hand resting there while he rolled his eyes, "If I hadn't already gotten beat up for bein' a fag today, I'd take 'ya on, stick man."

The boy's eye narrowed, his lip curled as if he were about to snarl.

"Chill Nnoi," a tired voice called, all heads swiveling to stare at the man that had been working the blowtorch. He had lifted his face protector up, revealing gray-blue eyes set in an attractive face. His brown hair was wavy and shoulder-length, and Ichigo admired the brilliant shark tooth necklace around the mechanic's neck, "Grimmjow brought them."

Nnoitra looked from the easygoing man back to the two kids he had nearly tripped, both of them looking slightly pissed but victorious, "Why'd Grimm bring 'em here? These two cocksuckers probably don't know a steering wheel from a piston ring."

"Do I need a reason to bring somebody to my garage?" a voice challenged.

Everybody's attention turned towards the voice of Grimmjow, who was leaning lazily in the doorway between the garage and the break room.

Nnoitra folded long arms over his chest, obviously not wanting to antagonize the alpha male, "Just don't like havin' people that don't belong is'all."

Grimmjow walked in a few steps, making Ichigo gulp. God, just the way he moved was predatory, as if the air around him was his to command.

Grimmjow was becoming more attractive, and more dangerous, by the second.

"That's Nnoitra," Grimmjow said, nodding towards the tall, one-eyed mechanic, "but you can call him Nnoi." Nnoitra gave Grimmjow an annoyed look: obviously it was a nickname reserved for close friends. Ichigo wanted to laugh at Grimmjow's attempt at subtle humor, but decided the murderous look on Nnoitra's face was enough to keep himself in check.

"And that's Starrk," Grimmjow said, nodding sideways towards the sleepy-looking welder, "he's too lazy to bite. You're safe around him."

Shinji laughed while Ichigo smiled, Nnoitra looking more pissed off by the second.

"So you boys like cars or are you here for the company?" Starrk asked, leaning over a metal work bench towards the small party.

"Neither," Shinji answered, arms folded over his chest as he cocked a hip, "That dumb fuck Renji Abarai decided to chase us down and beat us 'cuz we're gay."

"Shinji," Ichigo warned a moment too late. Damn: so much for staying secretly gay. His best friend had not only just announced it to the world, but to a room of nearly complete strangers.

Starrk's eyebrows knit together, his face contemplative, "That's not a good reason. You guys should be allowed to have a relationship without some jealous idiot hounding on you."

"Whoa, wait!" Ichigo held out his hands like he was stopping traffic, "We-we're not together."

"But you're both gay," Nnoitra said, like it made all the logical sense in the world for two people he had just met to be together, "ya both like dick, ya both have dicks, so why not?"

"Oh that's just gross," Shinji said, sticking his tongue out at Nnoitra, "Ichi's like a brother to me! Besides, we both like to bottom, so–"

"Stop it!" Ichigo nearly screamed, shaking Shinji's shoulders, completely red in the face with embarrassment, "Just _stop talking!"_

"Who needs to stop talking?" an unfamiliar voice asked, strolling into sight from the raised door of the garage wearing a gray mechanic's jumpsuit with the first couple buttons undone, exposing a tanned, tattoo-covered chest. His ink black hair was messy and spiky, a black 69 tattooed underneath one eye. His steel gray eyes nearly matched the jumper, a red rag hanging out of one of the oversized pockets. As he drew closer, Ichigo noticed very thin, healed-over scars running down one side of his face from temple to jaw. His hands were dirty from some kind of oil, his fingernails sporting chipped black paint.

"And this is Shuhei," Grimmjow said, gesticulating towards the mechanic who had just wandered in, "he belongs at MIT with that genius brain of his, but that same brain decided to stay here with us, so you decide if he's smart or not."

Shuhei grinned, punching Grimmjow in the shoulder playfully before turning towards Shinji and Ichigo, "If you're friends with this ass hole, I guess you're my friends too."

Both boys smiled at Shuhei, thankful that although he looked a bit intimidating he seemed honest and sincere.

"Did you get those parts from Urahara?" Nnoitra asked, his face looking expectantly at the tattooed genius.

"Yeah, but they cost a bit more than originally estimated…" Shuhei said, averting his eyes from Grimmjow.

"How much more?" Grimmjow asked, his voice low, careful.

"Uh," Shuhei scratched the back of his head, "About 100,000 yen."

Instead of freaking out or screaming like Ichigo would have done, Grimmjow nodded his head, "We buy from him because we know he can get it. Those parts aren't exactly buyable on the open market yet."

Nnoitra whooped with laughter, putting a long arm around Shuhei's neck as he began dragging him out the garage door, "Damn, we get started now, we should have that baby locked and loaded by Friday!"

"Not a bad way to spend 10,000 dollars," Stark murmured in agreement, hands in his pockets as he followed after his classmates.

"What college student has that kind of money lying around?" Shinji said, staring at Grimmjow with a raised eyebrow.

Grimmjow smirked, making Ichigo hyperventilate internally, "It's clean money, I promise. Besides, we race for pinks."

"Pinks?" Ichigo said, looking lost, "What are pinks?"

"Pink slips, the deed to the car," Grimmjow said, shrugging his shoulders, "What, you thought we tinkered around on Hyundais all day? The garages are supplied for our engineering classes, but what we do with it in our spare time doesn't always have to be legal."

"So you really _are_ a delinquent," Shinji smirked, winking at Ichigo, "Nothing hotter than a fast man and a hot car."

"Don't you mean a hot man and a fast car?" Ichigo replied.

"No, I meant exactly what I said," Shinji said, winking again.

Ichigo groaned, sick and tired of Shinji's seemingly-unending sexual innuendos, "Alright, we'd better let you guys go."

"Yeah, have fun tinkering with your toys," Shinji said, barely suppressing a giggle as he waved goodbye to Grimmjow and headed out of the garage with Ichigo practically dragging him again.

"Oi, yer gonna tear my arm off!" Shinji growled, pulling his arm away and flicking his hair out of his face, "It's bad enough I'm gonna be covered in bruises!"

"Yeah, me too," Ichigo reminded him, pointing at where he could feel his cheek swelling. It would probably be a garish purple-green for the next few days, but the cut wouldn't scar and his eye hadn't swollen shut, so he considered it a victory. His neck would probably look awful as well, "and thanks for announcing that I was gay in front of complete strangers, Shin. Very smooth."

"They won't be strangers for long," Shinji said, putting a hand on Ichigo's shoulder and giving him a terrifying grin, "At least, I don't think Grimmjow will be. How many times did you undress him with your eyes? I counted seven, but I think it's higher than that -"

Ichigo didn't even have the energy to hit him. Besides, he was right. It was more like thirteen.


	2. Fear

**_Disclaimer: I do not own Bleach. Damn. -TPP_**

* * *

**Tear It Up**

**Chapter 2: Fear**

* * *

Ichigo was thankful the weather was beginning to turn cold so that he could wear a manly scarf around his neck to cover Renji's bruise marks. The swelling on his face had gone down dramatically thanks to Shinji's poultice he had made the night of the attack, and it had been given a few days to heal since then. The purple-bluish mark was then made nearly invisible by Shinji's makeup techniques, which Ichigo had fought vehemently but had finally given in. He always gave in when Shinji pouted.

So here he sat in Design Fundamentals, twirling a pen in his hand as the professor droned on about their next computer-generated project. Ichigo groaned: he didn't mind technology, but he didn't like using computer programs to create artwork. He didn't have the patience to sit and figure out what every little button did, and Kami help him understand the layering effects and photo editing needed to convert anything into design-worthy material. He hated those programs, and apparently a few other students did as well from the groaning passing through the classroom.

Looked like he'd be begging Ishida for help that weekend, not that they were exactly friends. It was more of a tolerance thing.

When the professor finally dismissed them for the day, Ichigo closed his doodled-in notebook and shuffled out of class, his mind wandering. It was a typical Tuesday, a mere six days after having met what Ichigo had already deemed his soul mate, Grimmjow Jaegerjaques. He couldn't get the delinquent out of his mind no matter how hard he tried. The blue of the sky made him think about those intense eyes, a car passing through the parking lot reminding him of the garage, and thinking about the garage made him think about how Grimmjow had carefully touched his neck, making Ichigo's face grow hot and his breath hitch. Remembering the feel of those powerful hands being so gentle against his hurt skin made Ichigo nearly moan as he imagined those strong hands moving to other, more sensitive areas of the anatomy.

He had gotten himself off several times thinking about the bluenette, although he would never admit that to anybody, not even Shinji. Although Ichigo was becoming increasingly more agitated with his best friend who insisted Ichigo pursue the straight student, making Ichigo feel like decking Shinji in the face.

He was lusting after a straight guy. That was all there was to it. It was the Twilight Zone all gays feared: having unrequited feelings sucked all kinds of monkey balls, but it was even worse when the crush was straight; it made Ichigo more and more antsy as each day passed.

He could barely sleep, barely eat (not that there was much to eat – he was a poor art student, after all) and he couldn't pay attention in a single class, couldn't listen to a single professor as it had all become background noise to the phenomena that had presented itself in Ichigo's life.

He wanted Grimmjow. He had to have him, had to see him again. But how? It wasn't like the garages were exactly "on the way" to anywhere, like Ichigo could play it off to run into the object of his obsession as if it were mere chance. No, no. He had to think of something else.

Ichigo tried to banish the thoughts from his mind as he entered one of the many drawing studios, a dozen or so students gathering the supplies needed for the day. Advanced Drawing Composition was required for all fine art majors, so Ichigo had taken it without looking into it. Apparently Drawing Composition gave you the difficult tasks such as shading and capturing the essence of objects vital to survival such as leaves and coconuts, but Advanced Drawing Composition presented the artist with the more difficult challenge of capturing movement, grace, and form of the human body. Ichigo had absolutely no problem drawing the nude models, as most of them were professional older women who were associated with the college or were female art students. The boys were always making crude jokes as soon as the class was over, but Ichigo always ignored them. Drawing a nude chick was on par with drawing a lamp or a chair in his eyes, so no harm done.

He went to the supply room and grabbed a 24-by-36 inch drawing pad, dragging it into the main studio room and setting it on an abandoned easel. He pivoted the easel on its rusty wheels to his usual spot, where he got more natural lighting from the windows and where the overhead studio lighting wouldn't cause unnecessary shadows or glares on the model for the day.

Professor Yoruichi flitted in moments later, wearing a black turtleneck ensemble with a bright orange fitted jacket, a pencil and a paintbrush tucked in her pony tail as she clapped her hands and drew all the student's attention, "Alright, kitties, we have fresh meat today! I thought it was high-time for you guys to get a better range of body and motion, so I hired a few new models for the next month. Everybody be your usual and charming selves and this should go well."

Everybody nodded or murmured to each other, wondering who the new model would be. Ichigo simply sighed: it didn't matter who it was. He just wanted to draw. His fingers were itching to do it; drawing always calmed his rattled nerves and made him not think. He got lost in the action, in the lines and shades he created. He needed that freedom right now; the model, quite frankly, didn't matter.

"I'll be right back, have to drop this consent form off to the main office," Yoruichi said, waving said-paper in her hand as she disappeared out the windowless double-doors. They had to be, considering passers-by tended to peak in hopes of seeing some porn-worthy images. The windows in the studio were up too high for anybody to stare in from outside, so the studio made the models feel more at ease. They got paid ridiculously well for the three-hour-long sessions, but it wasn't easy work. Sitting still in a single position for an hour with fifteen minute breaks sounded easy, but it wasn't. The model couldn't flinch, scratch an arm, rub a tired eye. They just had to sit quietly under hot lights while twenty-or-so artists sketched their bodies.

Everybody's head turned at the sound of the doors opening, Yoruichi parading in, followed by the male model clad in the typical bathrobe issued to the models for privacy until they were ready to take the raised dais. Ichigo's eyes nearly bugged out of his head, his throat constricting as butterflies tore jagged holes into his stomach and chest.

_No no no no no!_ It couldn't be!

"Grimmjow, if you would please," Yoruichi said, gesturing towards the lighted dais, the students staring at the rumored delinquent. Some of the girls' faces were heated while a guy snickered and elbowed the friend next to him, murmuring something about how the jailbird was that desperate for cash. Ichigo scowled in their direction before turning his face back towards Grimmjow's now-moving form as if Ichigo were a flower seeking sunlight.

He could barely grip the piece of charcoal he had chosen as his drawing medium for the day as he swallowed hard, trying to banish the lump that had grown there. He nervously shifted on his stool, his eyes unable to leave Grimmjow as he reached the platform.

Without any warning, he peeled off the blue bathrobe.

And Ichigo nearly fell off of his stool. He covered his mouth with one hand to keep himself from making noise, now trying to control his erratic heartbeat as Yoruichi's voice droned in the background, instructing Grimmjow on how to lounge on the draped couch that had been propped up there for him. He laid back, an arm resting on an armrest, the other trailed on the back of the couch cushions, shifting his hips so that one leg was planted on the floor of the dais and the other was laid out on the couch cushions. He turned his head to the side as Yoruichi instructed, his chin perfect as Ichigo's eyes drank up the perfection that was Grimmjow. Smooth pectorals and washboard abs assaulted him, his breath leaving him completely as those eyes traveled down the cut and toned hips to powerful, long legs and, of course, a more than impressive cock decorated with a tuft of soft-looking blue hair.

Nobody's pencils or charcoal sticks had begun to move yet as Grimmjow lounged, his head tilted, his eyes resting on Ichigo's face.

Ichigo was in denial that Grimmjow could see him; he had to look like a shadow due to the intensity of the glaring overhead studio lights, but Grimmjow's eyes never wavered from Ichigo's, as if he _knew_.

Kami help him. Ichigo's knees shook violently as a warm sensation began pooling in his stomach and groin, making him arch his back. Fuck, he was wet, and he had never felt more turned on in his life. Grimmjow wasn't even touching him!

Oh God, if Grimmjow even so much as laid a finger on him right now…

Ichigo shot off of his stool without much warning, walking quietly across the studio towards the double doors as he passed students who had begun to draw.

_Good luck_, Ichigo thought dryly, _you can't perfect perfection_.

Yoruichi was a laid-back art instructor and never questioned students' comings and goings; she assumed he was making a bathroom run as he left the studio, taking a deep breath of fresh air as he closed the doors behind him, trying to clear his rattled mind.

He took more practiced, deep breaths as he made his way down the hallway and towards the boy's bathroom. After locking himself in a stall and lowering the toilet seat cover to sit on, Ichigo put his hands over his face, breathing in deeply through his nose and out through his mouth, his knees shaking nervously.

He was absolutely terrified.

He had known his attraction to Grimmjow was strong, but that strong? Kami, he would have wet dreams every night for the rest of his life.

The bathroom being abandoned, and Ichigo unable to help himself, he slowly unzipped his jeans and parted the seam in his boxers, pulling his dripping cock free. He fisted it with one hand and closed his eyes, rocking back as his inner eye allowed him to appreciate the new visuals Grimmjow had now provided him with. He slowly began to stroke himself, holding in gasps and moans as he imagined that Grecian body pressed up against him, those calloused fingers gripping his ass, their erections rubbing against each other, the friction unbelievable as Grimmjow's hot breath shook Ichigo to his very core, his orgasm building and building…

"Fuck!" Ichigo bucked his hips as he came all over his hand, stroking his wet length a few more times as his eyes adjusted to the bland, blank walls of the stall. He quickly grabbed some toilet paper and cleaned himself up and zipped, flushed the evidence of his naughty time down the toilet, and went to the sink, scrubbing his hands.

He stared at his reflection in the mirror, completely annoyed with himself.

"Pull it together, Kurosaki," Ichigo ordered, shredding paper towels in his hands as he dried them, "No fear."

It was easier to say than do, but Ichigo had never backed down from a challenge in his life, and he'd be damned if he would start now. He left the bathroom at a quick pace, approached the studio doors, and flung them open, returning to his seat quickly, pulling his easel to a better angle and gripping the piece of unused charcoal like a weapon.

_A critical eye_, Ichigo told himself, _just keep a critical eye._

Ichigo allowed his honey eyes to travel Grimmjow's body quickly, analyzing the proportions of his chest to his head, the size of his torso to the length of arms and legs. He began with quick, light lines, working his way out, having started with a basic outline of Grimmjow's core.

His lines became nearly furious as he etched into the paper, desperate to prove something to himself, or Grimmjow, or both. What did it matter? Why did he care? This was simply a model, simply another body to add to his portfolio. Ichigo's mind began to calm and go blank as he allowed his wrist to take control of his body, the lines becoming more pronounced around the jaw, the eyes, the shadows on his chest and under his arms. The legs were next, the muscle there highlighted by the lighting.

A buzzer sounded, announcing the first hour was over. Ichigo blinked: it had gone that quickly?

"Fifteen minute break," Yoruichi called, turning back to her art magazine, "Go ahead and stretch Grimmjow, but remember how you were positioned."

Grimmjow rose very slowly, flexing his arms and his legs as he stood to his full height, which Ichigo would guess to be around six foot one. He stretched his arms above his head, elongating that edible torso, his shoulder blades looking sharp enough to cut flesh as he lowered his arms again as he turned to grab the discarded robe, giving Ichigo a chance to view his backside.

Ichigo's face lit up. It wasn't fair! Grimmjow's body was flawless, even his ass. Ichigo glimpsed a large, gothic-style 6 tattoo on his lower back and shivered, imagining running his fingers over the artwork.

Now clothed, but his naked image forever burned into the mind's of the artists, he stepped off of the dais and began to wander the room, taking a look at the students' handy work. He didn't say anything, just looked them over and moved on, which made several girls babble about how they would be more impressive once the full session was over. A boy was even brave enough to try and start a conversation, but Grimmjow simply looked at him with a bland stare before he continued around the room, approaching Ichigo.

Ichigo tightened his hands into fists, reminding himself to look relaxed as Grimmjow approached him, his blue eyes sending another shock of lust through Ichigo's body, reminding him about his previous bathroom activity.

"Small campus," Grimmjow offered, cocking his head slightly. The action was so ridiculously simple, but Ichigo felt himself reacting to anything the blue-haired boy did.

"You stalking me?" Ichigo said, feeling bold. He knew in his head he had meant it in a flirtatious way, but the way it sounded was playful, like he expected a laugh out of it.

Grimmjow's eyes ran over Ichigo, making his spine tingle, "Just making some easy money. Starrk told me there were some openings."

Ichigo nodded, feeling a bit ridiculous. There were plenty of art studio classes, so Ichigo had felt like God was personally trying to punish him by having the one man he was attracted to on the whole campus come and show his goods for him for three hours. But then Ichigo remembered that only the advanced drawing classes had nude models, so it actually wasn't unrealistic for Grimmjow to be modeling for Ichigo's class.

But it still made butterflies beat around in his rib cage thinking he'd get to draw Grimmjow twice a week, 3 hours a day, giving him a grand total of 6 hours a week to supply his brain with plenty of new daydreams.

During his reverie, he hadn't noticed Grimmjow approach his easel, staring at the nearly-finished charcoal drawing. Ichigo snapped to attention, his face burning with shame as Grimmjow stared at his smaller paper-self.

Instead of laughing or looking embarrassed, Grimmjow said, "You're the only kid in here that made me look alive."

Ichigo fought the urge to scream hallelujah at the tops of his lungs. Trying to play cool and confident, Ichigo shrugged his shoulders, "Yoruichi always tells us that depth is more important than accuracy."

"She's right," Grimmjow said, looking from the charcoal drawing to Ichigo, "but this might as well be a photograph. I've never been turned on by myself before."

Ichigo gave a nervous laugh as Grimmjow grinned, obviously enjoying his little joke. Or was he flirting?

_Get a grip, Ichigo!_

"Alright, enough chitchat Jaegerjaques," Yoruichi called, waving a timer in her hand, "Back to work, gorgeous."

Grimmjow ran a hand through his hair, looking slightly annoyed as he made his way back to the dais, stripping and positioning himself as all the students stopped talking amongst each other and got ready at their easels.

Ichigo stared from the real-life Grimmjow to the Grimmjow he had created on paper, his heart erratic. He traced a tentative line over in the charcoal, a stupid smile on his stupid face as he contemplated stupid things.

* * *

Shinji didn't stop squealing for a good fifteen minutes that night after Ichigo explained the new model situation, even giddy enough to show Shinji his finished charcoal drawing.

"Kami, I knew it!" Shinji said, slapping one of his toned thighs, "you'll have him in your pants before the end of the semester!"

"Shut up!" Ichigo's face had turned an instant shade of red.

Shinji giggled some more before giving Ichigo another hug, "This is so exciting! He _sooooooo_ wants you!"

"I don't think drawing him nude is exactly going to make him hot for me," Ichigo said, lying on his bed in the dorm room. Ichigo was beyond thankful Shinji was his roommate: Ichigo didn't know how else he could have survived the past two years. Having a straight roommate would have made things much more difficult, especially since freshman year had been secret rendezvous dorm time for both young males and their sex interests. Ichigo had only ever slept with one guy, a student from a neighboring university, but that one time had defined his sexual expectations completely. Like Shinji had blatantly stated about a week ago in the garage, he was a bottom, a masochistic uke. Just thinking about it made Ichigo's cheeks redden: Grimmjow definitely looked like a seme, possibly even a sadistic seme…

"So he's your homework assignment," Shinji said, in the middle of pinning the masterpiece with tacks to the wall above Ichigo's bed, "I want you laid and in love by Christmas day, got it?"

"That's not realistic!" Ichigo grumbled, smacking Shinji's leg, making him giggle and sprawl over Ichigo for one of his customary bear hugs, "Get off me!"

"You love it when I cuddle," Shinji whined, kissing Ichigo chastely on the cheek, "you're my little cuddle monster, Ichi!"

And with that, Ichigo was fighting Shinji for dominance, Ichigo's laughter reaching epic proportions as Shinji tickled him in all the right spots.

The dorm room fell open, revealing an agitated Uryu, "Some of us are trying to study and further our education."

"Oh, loosen up, Four Eyes," Shinji complained, sitting up on Ichigo and smirking, "why don't'cha stop complainin' and join us?"

"Cut it out, Shin," Ichigo growled, pushing Shinji completely off of him as he sat up on the bed and stared at an annoyed Uryu, "Hey, you're still going to help me with that project for Design, right?"

"Only if you keep your creepy and questionable activities out of my hearing or visual range," Uryu said robotically, pushing his glasses farther up his thin nose, "It's absolutely beyond irritating."

"Bite me," Shinji said, snapping his jaws at Uryu, "Virgins are always irritated, ain't they?"

Ichigo shoved Shinji hard enough to knock him off of the bed with a squeal and a protest as he hit the ground.

"My sexual life is none of your concern," Uryu said calmly, looking at Shinji like he was a lower life form, "and those that go about advertising their sexual exploits are pigs."

"Oink _oink_," Shinji replied, giving Uryu the middle finger as an irritated Uryu closed the door to their room.

"I'm gonna kill you if he doesn't help me!" Ichigo threatened, falling back down on his bed with ill grace.

"Che, just buy him some sewing supplies," Shinji said, moving across the room to lay on top of his own bed. He was currently going through a hippie phase, his sheets in vibrant, psychadelic oranges, pinks, and greens, "he doesn't hate you, Ichi, he's got a grudge with me."

"Why?"

"We're both in the fashion department majoring in design. We're practically arch enemies when it comes to projects and shows," Shinji said, rolling his eyes, "I tend to get the teacher's attention, considering my ideas are fresh and fashion-forward for men and women, while the four-eyed robot specializes in dresses and Lolita-wear."

"Is that why he's such an ass to you?" Ichigo murmured quietly, afraid Uryu might be outside the door listening in.

Shinji rolled his eyes exasperatedly, staring at the roof, "Who knows? Maybe he's got the hots for you."

"Uryu's not gay!" Ichigo defended, not liking the idea of yet another person having a crush on him.

"Oh please," Shinji scoffed, rolling onto his side to face Ichigo, "he sews at every given opportunity, is extremely snarky to girls, and uses lace and pink in nearly every design. Trust me, Ichi, my gaydar doesn't lie."

"But in high school he liked Inoue."

Shinji sighed deeply, like Ichigo was driving his patience, "He was always staring not 'cuz he liked her; he was obsessed with giving her a makeover! Jesus, that girl looked like she got dressed by a blind Sunday school teacher every morning, not to mention she didn't know how to find shirts flattering due to those gigantic death traps the world calls tits."

Ichigo scratched the back of his head, wondering if Shinji's analysis pointed towards truth. Uryu? Interested in him? It made Ichigo take a look back to all the times the quiet loner had helped him, even though he obviously didn't like his best friend. He had never paid the classmate back in any way, other than offering a smile and a word of thanks. Was it possible then?

Maybe…maybe Ichigo shouldn't turn down the thought right away. After all, if Uryu was gay (not to mention interested), Ichigo at least had a fighting chance at finding a comfortable relationship and potential happiness, while Grimmjow afforded him a challenge he didn't know he could win, much less a race he could run in.

Grimmjow was straight, so why did Ichigo have this damnable hope in his gut? He should just give up before he got suckered too much farther into it, before he lost his mind and did something idiotic he'd never be able to take back, before he jumped.

But if he didn't jump, he couldn't fall, and Ichigo already knew he had fallen for Grimmjow hard, harder than anybody else he had ever met. And it wasn't just his amazing, drool-worthy physique, it was his personality, the tone of his voice, the way his eyes studied something until he understood it. Every unconscious move, every swipe of his hand through his hair, every breath, it was all enchanting to Ichigo, made him want to capture it all with charcoal or paint on a canvas.

At least he would get a chance to draw the bluenette for a few weeks, be able to see him twice a week.

That would have to be enough. _It had to be enough._

* * *

But it just wasn't enough.

Thursday's class passed with Ichigo reacting nearly the same way, excusing himself for a "bathroom break" before returning and conquering the room. The other students would compliment his work or offer their artistic two cents, but Ichigo didn't give a damn. By the next week he had literally become obsessed with drawing Grimmjow's body.

He had memorized every plane of the bluenette by the third week. He had memorized every scar, some so slight he had only noticed by getting closer than the other students, actually using a saw horse to draw on as he propped the drawing pad in front of him, only feet away from Grimmjow's position. Sitting, standing, leaning, facing away, facing directly, it didn't matter: Ichigo couldn't even think of drawing anything else.

Even when he didn't have Grimmjow in front of him. Two of his sketchbooks were positively bursting with sketches of eyes, mouths, and profiles of Grimmjow. Hands, always those hands that looked rough but could be so soft. Ichigo was actually beginning to fear for his mental wellbeing by the fourth week, as he was now using oil pastels to give his personal god the color he deserved. He had stopped disappearing to the bathroom, as he didn't want to waste even those few minutes away from his muse.

The piece he had worked on today had Grimmjow turned slightly away from him, the lines of his back rigid as his head turned to the side, exposing his face. Ichigo had sketched and then begun to use the oil pastels, a crayon-like medium that could be manipulated with fingers, smudged and controlled. He was lucky Yoruichi was letting him get away with them, considering the class was supposed to only use pencil, charcoal, or graphite, but Yoruichi was so impressed with Ichigo's skill and technique she had allowed it to slide by.

The other students had pretty much stopped trying, as Ichigo was the only one receiving any praise from the professor and was the only student getting any attention from Grimmjow during his breaks. Ichigo could see girls glaring at him from the corner of his eyes as Grimmjow talked quietly with him. They never talked about more than superficial things, such as classes, professors, and the weather. Ichigo had gotten him to talk about the garage, asking him about his final project.

"Still working on her," Grimmjow had murmured, offering Ichigo a smirk, "but she'll run with the big boys when I'm done with her."

"Are you always at the garage?" Ichigo said, hoping he didn't sound like a stalker.

"If I'm not at the garage or in a car, I'm not alive," Grimmjow had answered right before Yoruichi yelled at him to get back to work as the buzzer rang again.

The fourth week flew by, Ichigo's projects earning more praise from Yoruichi than he thought he deserved. The one that had been done in oil pastels was selected to be entered in a campus-wide competition. Ichigo had simply titled it "_The Blue Six"_ in honor of the tattoo Ichigo couldn't bring himself to ask Grimmjow about. For some reason, no matter how much of Grimmjow's body he saw, he didn't think he would be able to breach that personal boundary.

The following Tuesday during the second break of the session, Ichigo finally blurted, "Doesn't it make you uncomfortable?"

Grimmjow looked at him, his eyebrows drawing together in confusion, "Does what make me uncomfortable?"

Ichigo felt his cheeks redden, his eyes darting away from Grimmjow's as he whispered low, "You know I'm gay, and I draw you every week. Doesn't that bother you?"

"Why should it?" Grimmjow replied, shrugging a shoulder, "How is it any different than having these girls draw me?"

Ichigo tried not to gape at Grimmjow like a fish, so he snapped his mouth shut, "I guess that makes sense, but..."

Grimmjow tilted his head to the side, studying Ichigo's face, "You can't help what you're attracted to. Gender doesn't dictate feelings."

Ichigo's face was flaming, his foot shaking nervously as he rubbed his hands down the fronts of his jeans as he stayed seated on the stool, "Girls usually don't care but, straight guys tend to get so upset, like we're aliens, or we have a disease, so I just thought…"

"I'm not straight," Grimmjow said simply.

Ichigo's heart skyrocketed up his throat, pushed past his brain and seemed to burst out of his skull at that statement, "What?"

"I don't like labels," Grimmjow said, running a hand through his hair, his eyes concentrating on Ichigo's, "straight, gay, bi, those words don't mean anything to me, just like geek, homo, and baka don't mean anything to me. I'm just me."

"So…" Ichigo fished, rocking on his stool nervously, "you like women and men?"

Grimmjow just stared at him, making Ichigo swallow: damn it, he was so nervous. He had never, ever expected all these seemingly-innocent conversations to bring him to this moment. A month of bonding (technically only given one hour and forty five minutes a week) had brought the both of them to this moment, a moment of truth where Ichigo could finally pursue Grimmjow or decide to give up and leave him alone. He was only scheduled for two more weeks; he had asked Yoruichi, and Ichigo had taken the news like the bluenette was sentenced to die. But it would be better for him not to see him; eventually he'd be able to quit Grimmjow, but like any druggie, rehab would take a long, long time.

"Attraction is attraction. If I want something, I get it," Grimmjow's voice had been silky, or at least it had seemed silky to Ichigo's ears, "Gender doesn't matter, sexual orientation doesn't matter. It's all about chemistry and attraction."

"Says the mechanical engineer," Ichigo said with a smirk.

Grimmjow leered back at him, "You shouldn't tease the guy who saved your ass."

"My ass didn't need saving."

"Fine, your face then."

* * *

Somehow that conversation had led to Ichigo walking out of the classroom with Grimmjow after he had changed into street clothes, the both of them talking about both ridiculous things and philosophical things as they headed south on campus.

It didn't even phase Ichigo that he had ended back at the garage, the place he had said he wouldn't go, but Grimmjow had kept talking to him, leading him there without Ichigo even realizing how far they had walked by the time they reached the giant open metal door.

"Yo," Starrk called, waving a hand as he lowered the hood to one of the cars.

"What's up' Starrk?" Grimmjow called back, approaching the car as Starrk began to babble car talk. Ichigo just crossed his arms over his chest and wandered the garage, staring at the posters and pictures that had been taped up, a few magazine articles torn out and pinned to bulletin boards. Various sketches of car parts and different charts that Ichigo couldn't even begin to understand were stacked on a table with a book of schematics. A laptop was set up on another metal work table with a flash drive and several discs marked with things such as _'Hogyoku NOS exp'_ and '_4 valve vs. 2 valve'_. His mind whirling, he moved on, flipping through a car magazine that listed different brands, parts, and compared the quality of engines. Ichigo was so out of place it was embarrassing.

He nearly jumped out of his skin when he heard the roar of an engine outside followed by the screeching sounds of tires as they skidded on pavement. A cussing voice Ichigo recognized was soon followed by a body as the lanky Nnoitra entered the garage, looking thoroughly pissed off.

"What now?" Stark asked.

"My car topped out at 140!" Nnoitra complained, grabbing a half-used carton of cigarettes off of a work bench and lighting one, "I need NOS, Grimm. Two tanks, nothin' less will be good enough for Hueco Mundo."

"Don't be stupid," Grimmjow replied, his face serious, "Nitrous oxide isn't for amateurs. You're sticking to the quarter-mile; you don't need juice for that."

"I ain't running with the chumps anymore!" Nnoitra said, looking furious as he puffed on his cigarette, "I can handle it, Grimm, just gimme what I want!"

"Last time I trusted you with NOS, you nearly blew yourself to pieces," Grimm reprimanded, leaning against the car Starrk had been working on, "You're too hot-headed; you don't know how to wait, feel out the moment. You're just too impulsive. I'm not juicing your car when I know you're not ready."

"You fuckin' serious?" Nnoitra said, puffing smoke out of his nostrils, his face expressing extreme anger. Ichigo thought he looked like a pissed-off dragon, "you can't be fuckin' serious, Grimm."

"I am," Grimmjow said, staring at Nnoitra in a classic sternness that belonged to parents, "I'm not going to be responsible for you getting yourself killed."

Nnoitra took another drag, his one uncovered eye cutting Grimmjow like a dagger, "Ya can't throw Quatro in my face every time ya think I'm riskin' somethin'! If ya don't risk somethin', ya got nothin', Grimm! I'm sick and tired of 'ya dictatin' my races!"

"Then get the NOS yourself," Stark defended, knowing full well Nnoitra didn't have the resources or the cash to cover even a quarter of a tank of the dangerous chemical.

"This isn't about NOS! This is about Quatro!" Nnoitra said, stamping his useless cigarette out on the floor beneath his booted foot, "I ain't an idiot. Yer never gonna get over it, are ya?"

The room fell silent as Ichigo stared between Nnoitra and Grimmjow, waiting for a response. Grimmjow's stance had become guarded, coiled as if he were tense and ready to spring. Would it be beautiful to watch Grimmjow snap or horrifying? He wasn't sure as he waited, holding his breath as Grimmjow averted his eyes.

"I won't let another brother die," he said, standing up straight and walking towards the break room, "Don't make me call Shawlong; but if that's what I gotta do to keep your head on your shoulders, I'll do it."

Nnoitra yelled as he slammed his fist into a metal worktable, pushing it away from him in a violent fit before he stormed out of the garage. Not even a minute later, an engine revved to life and the unseen car peeled out of the lot, Grimmjow disappearing into the break room without a sound.

"Quatro was one of us," Starrk offered, seeing how lost Ichigo looked, "got clipped in a race in Hueco Mundo Valley. Spun him into another car juiced with NOS. They told us the other driver died instantly from the explosion."

Ichigo felt like weights had dropped from his stomach to his shoes, anchoring him in place as he listened to the tragic tale.

"Quatro didn't make it out of the car. He burned to death," Stark finished, closing his eyes before staring at the break room door, "He was Grimmjow's closest friend: grew up together like real brothers. We were all close friends through high school, but Grimmjow, Quatro, and Nnoitra were inseperable."

"But it wasn't his fault," Ichigo murmured, his eyebrows drawn together, "It wasn't Grimmjow's fault."

Stark shook his head, "He had forbidden Quatro from racing the match at Hueco Mundo Valley; said he wasn't ready. Quatro didn't listen, grabbed Grimmjow's keys…"

Ichigo thought he was going to be sick, "Oh my God."

Stark nodded solemnly, "Ulquiorra - Quatro - burned to death in Grimmjow's boosted car. I remember that day like it was yesterday…it was the only time I've ever heard Grimmjow scream."

Ichigo shook his head slowly, trying to make sense of it all, "When…when did it happen?"

"Four years ago," Stark said, rolling the right sleeve of his mechanic's jumper up to the elbow to reveal a black, gothic-style number 6, "on the 6th of June."

Ichigo put a hand to his mouth, his breath shuddering. Four years ago…on the 6th of June…

_06/06/06._

Ichigo felt tears in his eyes, but didn't allow them to spill over as he tried to recover. God, and to think he had been planning to ask Grimmjow about the significance of his tattoo. It was mind-numbingly heartbreaking, "God…"

"Grimmjow drives Quatro's car now. He'll only race with Quatro's car."

Ichigo didn't want to, but he had to ask, "Why?"

Starrk's sad eyes traveled back to the closed door of the break room, where Grimmjow was, "Grimmjow lives his life one second at a time; he doesn't plan things. He doesn't think about the future, or graduation, or settling down with a nice girl and having some kids. He lives to race: it's the only time he's calm. I think the only real plan he has is to die in that car someday."

Ichigo was frozen for several more moments before he felt his feet moving towards the break room, his hand hesitating before it touched the door knob, as if he knew touching it would shock him.

"Don't open that door unless you're serious."

Ichigo's back stiffened, his hand still frozen as he processed Starrk's words. He turned his head to stare over at Starrk, who was leaning against that same car Grimmjow had been leaning on not too long ago, "What do you mean?"

Ichigo felt as if he couldn't hide anything from those large, deep blue-grey eyes. They were far too intelligent to believe the façade Ichigo was having trouble acting, "Remember, he lives his life a second at a time. A spark only lasts a moment with him; I don't know if he can return your feelings how you want him to."

Ichigo gulped, wishing he wasn't so weak. Damn, was he that easy to see through? Was he being that obvious about his affection for Grimmjow? Starrk had only seen him twice, and obviously he had hit the nail on the head.

"Starrk…" Ichigo began, looking back over towards where Starrk had previously been leaning to find the space vacated. Ichigo swiveled his head around, looking for the laid-back mechanic and not seeing him anywhere in the garage.

So he was alone. He steadied his breathing, rationalizing…

Fuck rationalizing. Everything he wanted was on the other side of this door, even if what he wanted was scarred and broken into pieces. He'd take it all.

He turned the knob and stepped inside, seeing Grimmjow seated on one of the leather couches, his elbows resting on his knees, his hands clasped together, his face masklike. He hadn't even moved, hadn't even moved his eyes over towards the door. He looked lost in deep thought, as if he was using all of his mental energies to sew and stitch the painful memory like a gaping wound.

Ichigo approached the couch and stood in front of the immobile Grimmjow, waiting.

"I'm about to do something very stupid," Ichigo announced, making Grimmjow finally tilt his head back and stare up at the redhead.

"What?" Grimmjow's voice was husky and low, but still felt like barbed wire. Ichigo felt his spine tingle, as if his body recognized the dangerous animal before him.

"I'm going to risk our friendship," Ichigo stated, his voice in danger of breaking as he fell to his knees in front of Grimmjow and grabbed Grimmjow's head between his hands, those cobalt eyes stormy but curious, "because I'm an idiot."

With a sudden burst of courage, Ichigo leaned forward and brushed his lips against Grimmjow's cold ones, his breath hitching in his chest at the contact. Kami, how many days had he envisioned doing this? Not exactly in this way, but feeling Grimmjow's lips against his? It was even better than the possibilities his imagination had cooked up.

Ichigo waited for agonizing seconds, wishing and praying that the boy he wanted more than air would respond to him. Even a push or a sound of disgust would have sufficed; something, anything…

Iron hands locked onto Ichigo's forearms, forcing Ichigo to leave the haven that was Grimmjow's mouth. Ichigo was nearly shaking with need as he stared at Grimmjow's cold, expressionless face.

Grimmjow swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing as he studied Ichigo's face, "I think you should leave."

All the air left Ichigo's lungs at the statement. It would have been better if Grimmjow had punched him in the gut, yelled at him, called him a disgusting faggot, anything than the cold, distant voice he had just used in combination with that blank, empty face.

To his horror, Ichigo felt tears streaming down his face as he backed away on his knees before getting up and running out of the break room and out the open garage door, the sunlight dimmed as twilight had begun to give way to night. All he needed now was for the heavens to open up and rain to course down over him as he ran from the garage, over the pavement, running blindly as the tears had now blurred his vision. He didn't have the energy to swipe them away, couldn't breathe as he continued to run.

He tripped, landing face first in the grass before getting up and running again, ignoring the dirt that caked his knees from the fall. Damn that dirt. Damn that dirt from that field, the field that had started all this chaos. It was the field's fault, all his fault…

Ichigo didn't stop running until he reached his dorm, exhausted and shaking. He practically fell into his room, past a concerned Shinji and didn't stop until he was standing under the spray of the shower, not caring he was fully clothed. The water hadn't become warm yet, but it didn't matter. Cold or hot, it didn't matter. Nothing mattered, it couldn't, shouldn't.

"_Gender doesn't matter to me. It's all about chemistry and attraction."_

Grimmjow had rejected him. That was all.

Shinji called to him through the door of the bathroom, knocking repeatedly. If Ichigo hadn't locked it, he knew the blonde would be in there right now, demanding answers, both angry and concerned for his best friend.

"Just leave me alone!" Ichigo called out, sliding down in the shower until he was sitting on the wet tiles, "Just…leave me alone…"

About half an hour later, well after all the warm water was gone, Ichigo managed to pull himself out of the shower, removing the soaking wet cold clothes and wrapping a towel around his waist before he stumbled into the poorly-lit bedroom, throwing himself into bed and burrowing under the covers, suddenly cold and exhausted.

He felt Shinji's weight settle on the side of his bed near his waist, slim fingers beginning to run through Ichigo's dripping wet orange hair, "Ichi, baby, what happened?"

Ichigo couldn't even answer him. He simply began sobbing, Shinji moving to lie next to him almost protectively until Ichigo finally cried himself to sleep.


	3. Obsession

**Disclaimer: Still don't own Bleach. -TPP**

* * *

**Tear It Up**

**Chapter 3: Obsession**

* * *

Ichigo didn't even bother going to class the next day. He had stayed in bed, brooding, staring up at the ceiling for what felt like minutes but had turned into hours. His universe just didn't make sense anymore. His fingers twitched occasionally, telling him to get up and take his frustration out on paper or canvas. He could draw the object of his obsession, the student with blue hair that had drawn him like a moth to the flame then burned him with a fire that had seemed to sear his very soul.

Maybe that was overly dramatic, but that was how Ichigo felt, how his mind was processing things.

The next few days were better, but even Ichigo knew he looked and sounded like a robot. He had gotten a C on his project for Design Fundamentals, even with a few hours of help from Uryu. It didn't matter. He didn't care.

He felt nothing as he filed into the drawing studio that Tuesday. Five days since running from Grimmjow had given him not what he considered resolve, but what he would probably label defeat. He would simply fade, become a part of the background as he sketched the model that had seemed to rip the very life from Ichigo's chest.

He came in several minutes later, his eyes not even looking in Ichigo's usual spot as he removed his bathrobe and took a standing position, his face turned away from Ichigo.

Damn him.

Ichigo's fingers began flying across the paper, the charcoal layered on so thick it was black as pitch. Ominous shadows danced behind the created form on the paper, giving the model a feeling of absolute darkness and hopelessness, all the things Ichigo was feeling. _Damn him. Damn him straight to hell._

But the more he sketched, the less angry he felt. He just had to move on. He had to get over it. Rejection was part of the game of life, and he had lost this turn.

"Are you alright, Kurosaki?" Yoruichi asked during the first break, looking from the sporadic work on the easel to Ichigo's face, expecting an answer.

"I'm fine," Ichigo answered, keeping his eyes from moving over to Grimmjow who was staring at paintings that had been left in the corner of the studio from Painting 1.

Yoruichi's eyes flickered from Grimmjow's still form to Ichigo's, her slim reading glasses sliding further down her noble nose, "That's a load of crap, Kurosaki."

"I'm doing the best I can," Ichigo gritted out, feeling cornered by Yoruichi's intense gaze.

"No, you're not," Yoruichi reprimanded, flicking her hand at the easel, "this isn't like you. This has no life, no movement. It's beyond dead; you've buried it six feet under."

Ichigo wanted to giggle, but held it back. Yoruichi had an incredible intellect and was armed with a woman's intuition, two things Ichigo had always admired, "I'm just having a bad day, sensei."

"Well, get it together," she said, patting him on the shoulder, her eyes flicking over to Grimmjow again, "Jaegerjaques, back to work."

Ichigo tried to breathe life into the next picture, but he just wasn't feeling it. It was the worst case of artist's block Ichigo had ever had, and what made it worse was that he didn't care.

Ichigo bolted from the room as soon as Yoruichi released them, not wanting to be caught in the room with that awful boy. He hurried down the hallway, not paying attention to where he was going, not really caring in the least. He didn't have another class, so he let his feet wander. He eventually ended up in the library, but soon got bored and left in favor of grabbing something to eat from the cafeteria. After staring at a turkey sandwich and an apple for a good twenty-five minutes, he finally gave up and left, not hungry after all. He heard squeals of delight from a student named Keigo as he feasted on what Ichigo had left untouched at the table, but he didn't bother turning around, just kept on his uncertain path.

The sun was gone now, only faint traces of orange and pink at the horizon's edge as the sky prepared for night, a few stars already glittering high overhead. Ichigo suddenly had the urge to stargaze: he hadn't done it since he was a kid, when his little twin sisters had laid in the grass with him along with Shinji, all of them wishing stupid, impossible things on the most dazzling ones.

_"I wish for a pony!" Yuzu had giggled, clapping her hands together._

_"I wish for a new soccer ball," Karin mumbled, her arms folded over her chest, "Goat Face won't buy me a new one 'til my birthday."_

_"I wish mom were still alive," Ichigo had blurted, regretting it when his sisters stiffened beside him. But it was true: it was the one thing Ichigo had wished on every star since her death._

_"Well I wish for happiness," Shinji had chimed, obviously trying to lose the somber mood Ichigo had created, "for all of us."_

Ichigo stopped walking, looking at his surroundings. He hadn't really been paying attention to where he was going. The lights of the gym were off to his side, a few basketball players disappearing inside for practice. He was currently standing in a courtyard, the dorms off in the distance, the football field to his right. He was at peace, content to be alone.

"Well look what I found," a voice sneered, "that Blondie faggot's butt buddy."

Ichigo stiffened, turning towards the voice he both knew and loathed. Renji emerged out of the darkness, dressed in a white university t-shirt and loose gym shorts, his two cronies not far behind him, dressed similarly. They'd probably just come from the gym workout room or a wrestling team practice. Ichigo had honestly forgotten about them for the past few weeks, never having run into them on campus since his obsession with Grimmjow had started. Maybe because he had spent almost all of his spare time holed up in his room doodling Grimmjow. Obviously Renji was still a little resentful from their last parting, and Ichigo wondered if he could outrun all three of them. He doubted he could take all of them in a fight, even with his skill.

"Ya look nervous," Renji laughed, approaching the frozen berry, "but I guess ya should be."

"Don't," Ichigo said, taking a step back, fear beginning to creep down his spine like shards of ice.

"Don't what?" Renji taunted, even closer now, the other two fanning out as if to surround him. Maybe that was exactly what they had planned.

"Don't do this," Ichigo said as calmly as possible, trying not to look afraid, "What does it prove? Will it make you feel better to beat me up because I'm gay?"

For a second Renji looked a little shocked, then that disdainful look came over his face, "So ya really are gay. Knew the disease would get to 'ya, having a pansy-ass faggot like Blondie as your roommate."

"Shut up," Ichigo ordered, his classic temper surfacing, "it's not something you can beat out of me. You can punch me until your arms go numb, but when I wake up tomorrow, I'm still going to be gay, so why, Renji? Why waste your time?"

Instead of diffusing the bomb, it looked like Ichigo had set the timer. Even in the darkness, Ichigo could see how angry Renji was.

"Run, little faggot, run."

Ichigo's legs moved before his brain had fully processed Renji's chilling words, his body shooting off like a rocket in the direction of the football field. Not exactly the smartest choice, considering he had been closer to the gym where there was guaranteed to be people. But in his panic, he had chosen the broad, open field as an escape route, knowing if he made it to the other side, there was the common lawn, which had plenty of light and plenty of students, even at this time of night. Renji couldn't possibly make a scene there, especially since teachers were in that vicinity.

_All he had to do was keep running…_

A muscle spasm in his leg made him hesitate for only a millisecond, his knee giving out beneath him and making him stumble, his face eating grass and dirt as a heavy body fell on top of him. He immediately started rolling, catching Renji off guard enough to roll out from beneath him and spring forward, only to be knocked down by the massive wall that could only be Ganju. He reeled back, trying to keep his eyes focused as he felt hands on his arms, holding him with bruise-worthy strength as he lashed out with his feet, managing a few kicks and satisfied to hear a few grunts.

"Get him behind the bleachers," Renji ordered, the three of them hefting Ichigo like a potato sack even as he fought and struggled. Ichigo's mind was on fire, his brain buzzing with adrenaline and the instinct to bite, scratch, and claw his way to freedom. He had to get away, he had to get away…

All the air left his lungs as he was flung onto hard-packed dirt. He gasped, stunned as arms pinned his arms down and another pair of arms held down his still-struggling legs.

"Keep him down," Renji ordered, all of them breathing heavy from the exertion.

The realization made Ichigo's eyes go wide, his mouth opening for a scream as he felt hands shoving at his jeans, tugging them down past his boxers.

_**NO.**_

Ichigo let loose, screaming as loud as he could before a hand slammed against the side of his face, stunning him into silence.

"Shut him up," Renji's cold voice commanded. A big, meaty hand that could only belong to Ganju descended over Ichigo's mouth as Ichigo thrashed, blind desperation making him bite the hand covering his means of rescue. He started yelling again as soon as Ganju began cussing from the bite, only to have another hand replace the one that had been lost but not before another painful blow to the side of his face. This time he saw stars and lay limp.

Ichigo felt tears prick his eyes as cold air met his bare bottom, his boxers removed.

_NO NO NO NO **NO.**_

Ichigo's face was shoved sideways to keep him from biting effectively, his body shaking under the three boys keeping him prisoner. His muffled cries combined with tears as he was flipped over, his arms pinned behind his back painfully, his legs locked in place. Renji's hand slid over his ass along the crease as he laughed, Ichigo positively screaming through the flesh covering his mouth.

"Yer gonna love it," Renji murmured, positioning his cock at Ichigo's unprepared entrance, "Ya brought this on yourself, so stop screaming like a little bitch!"

Feeling Renji's cock probing at his entrance sparked something in Ichigo that was beyond rage, beyond terror, beyond reason. He bit Ganju's hand as hard as he could, screaming at the tops of his lungs the one person he was desperate for at the moment, _"GRIMMMMMMMJOWWWWWWW!"_

Another blow to the face, but Ichigo threw all of his strength into trying to move, still screaming, _"HELP ME! GRIMMJOW, PLEEASSSE!"_

"Shut up!"

Ichigo's mouth filled with blood at the next blow, making him choke as he tried to breathe another lungful of air to scream.

Suddenly Ichigo was aware of scuffling. Ganju groaned in pain as Ikkaku's grip left his side, making Ichigo practically free.

"Motherfucker!" Renji hissed, releasing his hold on Ichigo's legs as he got up, pulling up his pants.

"I should kill you."

Ichigo's entire body tingled at the words. That voice…that voice…it couldn't be…

Renji lunged forward, grappling with the shadow. It was so dark now. How had he known? How had he found him? The garages were on the other side of the campus. Maybe the snarling anger he was hearing combined with punches and kicks didn't belong to him; maybe it was some pretty fantasy. Ichigo began moving, crawling forward as he tried to get himself together. He pulled at his boxers, tugging them back up high, his fingers shaking as he worked his jeans up over his ass but not having the energy to button them. His head felt like it was going to explode. He spit blood out of his mouth into the dirt, turning his head to look at the damage being done.

Ganju was lying face-first in the dirt, not moving, while Ikkaku was sprawled out not far away, his eyes closed, knocked-out cold. Renji was still grappling, cussing up a storm as he punched at the tall shadow. The next snapping noise made Ichigo cringe and Renji howl: he had just broken his nose.

Renji fell to the dirt, his hands covering his nose as he howled with more pain. His savior wasn't finished yet. He had said he would kill him. Perhaps he was a man of his word.

He got down and grabbed Renji by the collar of his t-shirt, his fist connected with Renji's jaw so fast it made Ichigo dizzy.

Again, and again, and again.

It was dark, but Ichigo could see the blood on the white fist, his eye crazed with something Ichigo had never seen before.

Ichigo's lips began moving, his entire body shaking as he tried to stand up, "S-stop."

His savior never relented, Renji making whining, keening noises by this point like a beat down animal.

"S-stop it!" Ichigo screamed, standing up completely, his head reeling, "He's not worth it, Nnoi. P-please, just stop."

Nnoitra's fist stopped, his head cocking to the side as he looked down at his handy work, "Fuckin' come near this kid again and I'll kill ya."

Renji's head rolled to the side as he spit blood, whimpering from pain as Nnoitra released him after Nnoitra kicked him in the side before making his way towards Ichigo. Ichigo had managed to button his jeans by this point, shaking so bad he didn't know if he could walk.

"Come with me," Nnoitra said gruffly, tugging on Ichigo's hand and guiding him past the bleachers, the field, and finally to the parking lot of the gym. Looking at him now, Ichigo could see he was wearing a plain white wife beater and black gym shorts. Thank Kami for small favors. Of all the nights for Nnoitra to use the weight-training room at the gym…

Ichigo let tears run down his face as Nnoitra ordered him to get into the car, a souped-up black Honda Civic. Ichigo got into the passenger side, not bothering to buckle a seatbelt as Nnoitra peeled out of the parking lot, weaving on the roads that led to the other side of the campus. Ichigo already knew where he was headed but was helpless to stop it. What did it really matter?

Nnoitra stopped in front of the garage, honking his horn several times before getting out and opening the passenger door for Ichigo.

"What happened?" Shuhei said from the lighted doorway of the garage, "Everything okay?"

Ichigo walked stiffly into the garage, his arms wrapped around himself as he tried to control his emotions. Shame, guilt, and fear of what could have happened washed over him, making him feel like dry heaving.

"Oh shit," Shuhei murmured, approaching Ichigo and holding his chin up to see the damage done to his face, "Stark!"

Stark came into view several seconds later, looking garage-dirty and tired. His face transformed into concern upon seeing the bruised and bleeding berry, coming forward and announcing to move him into the break room for the first-aid kit. Nnoitra tagged along, although he stayed farthest back when Stark ordered Ichigo to sit on a chair. Shuhei got a rag wet with hot water at the sink while Stark rummaged through the first aid kit, murmuring it was pretty useless.

"This'll help more than that shit," Nnoitra said, holding out a small bottle of rum.

Ichigo grabbed it, untwisting the lid with shaking fingers and holding it up to his lips, taking several long, deep sips before feeling a rush of calmness. He was safe now, and even better, he had booze in his system. A few more sips of this stuff and he'd be on cloud nine.

He sat quietly as Shuhei applied the hot rag to his face, removing dirt and dried blood. Ichigo winced when Stark applied some kind of stinging disinfectant, then asked him to open his mouth to check the damage. Ichigo obeyed while Stark looked in his mouth, announcing the inside of his cheek was cut open, thus the amount of blood. He wiggled a few of his teeth, beyond relieved none of them were loose.

He took another sip from the bottle, and possibly another before Stark grabbed it out of his greedy clutches, "I think that's enough."

"No it'snot," Ichigo almost slurred, grabbing at the bottle again, "Jus' a little more."

But the bottle never returned to his hand, annoying him. He didn't want to be coddled and babied: he just wanted to go back to his room and sleep away the nightmare. And possibly drink it away too.

The break room door flew open, a blue-haired devil storming in like Armageddon. His face only became angry as he stared at Ichigo. Ichigo smiled at him stupidly, happy to see his face, even though Grimmjow was probably here to kick him out. He didn't want anything to do with him: he had made that perfectly clear five days ago when he had told him to leave. And here he was, back at the place Grimmjow practically lived at, borderline-drunk and borderline-rape victim, "Hi."

"Is it true?" Grimmjow asked, rage apparent on his face, his fists clenched at his sides.

Ichigo giggled, finding it rather funny. Why did Grimmjow even care? It made him angry, and combined with his sense of humor and near-drunkenness, he hiccupped something ridiculous, "I tripped."

Shuhei looked at Ichigo like he had grown horns, while Stark remained seated and unfazed. When had Nnoitra left the room? Oh there he was, leaning in the doorway to the break room. When had he left the room? He had to have, if he was over there and Grimmjow was in here now…

"Bullshit. You know what I'm talking about!" Grimmjow bellowed, getting closer to Ichigo to inspect the damage, "Is it true that Renji Abarai...attacked you?"

Ichigo snorted, wishing he could finish that bottle of rum, "Why? S'not like you care. You don't even like me."

Grimmjow gripped at his hair like he was going to yank it straight out of his head, "Goddammit, Ichigo, stop fucking around!"

Ooh, this was a side of Grimmjow Ichigo had never seen. He always seemed calm, cool, and collected. And this was…deliciously unhinged. Ichigo liked that, liked that a lot more than he probably should, "I'm not fuckin' around. So what if he did? S'not like you'd do anything about it. You weren't there."

Ichigo wished he could take the last statement back because Grimmjow's face fell, like he had punched him in the gut. Shit, that wasn't what Ichigo had meant to say. He took it back he took it back!

Grimmjow's gaze hardened, his jaw rigid, "If Nnoitra hadn't already beaten him within an inch of his life, I'd go do it right now."

"Renji's a Grade-A certifiable asshole, but he doesn't deserve to die," Ichigo said, waving off Grimmjow's chivalry, "I get enough satisfaction knowing he'll burn in hell."

"Get out," Grimmjow growled.

Rage seized Ichigo's entire being as he stood up, "Fine! I didn't ask to come here in the first place!"

"Not you, idiot!" Grimmjow said, pushing down on Ichigo's shoulder so that he fell back into the chair thanks to his muscle-tired legs, "Them."

Stark and Shuhei walked out, Nnoitra still staring in at the scene, his face blank.

Grimmjow gave him a look, the universal male look for 'I owe you'. Nnoitra closed the door behind him, looking slightly pissed off. His knuckles had looked a little cut up, possibly from connecting with Renji's teeth.

Grimmjow rubbed a hand over his eyes, pulling a chair over to sit directly in front of Ichigo, his eyes making Ichigo dizzy, "Nnoitra told me what happened, that you called my name. Why?"

_"Why?"_ Ichigo said, drawing the word out, staring at Grimmjow like he was an idiot, "Oh I don't know, maybe because you were the only person who ever saved me in my entire life. Or maybe it was because I'm absolutely obsessed with you, even if you did reject me."

Ichigo grabbed his backpack which had been sitting next to him by the chair, grabbing his sketchbooks and opening them, the loose pages flying up in a fury as he practically threw the books at Grimmjow, "Maybe you can explain it to me, asshole! Jesus, you have no idea what you've done to me, do you? You've fucking ruined me! Ever since you saved me in that goddamned field, I haven't been able to take my mind off of you. I couldn't give up, even though I knew you were straight, but then you gave me that cryptic message in the studio and I thought maybe, MAYBE I had a chance. And then when I'm feeling completely vulnerable and at my dumbest, I kiss you, and you tell me to leave. What the _fuck,_ Grimmjow? Who the _fuck_ do you think you are? Now you're toying with me again, interrogating me like you actually _give a damn_ about what happens to me!"

Grimmjow was staring at the sketchbooks, soaking in everything Ichigo was saying before he looked up at Ichigo with those deep eyes and Ichigo stopped rambling. Kami, it wasn't fair that he had the power to do that!

"I'm sorry," Grimmjow said heatedly, dropping the sketchbooks down on the ground, moving his chair closer to Ichigo, their knees bumping against each other as he growled, "I freaked, alright? I don't – I can't be around people when I'm like that. I just can't, and I'm sorry if I pissed you off, but that's just the way I am. I can't change that."

"When you're like what? When you put up that goddamned invisible wall of razor wire around you? When you shut down and stop acting like a human being?" Ichigo practically growled in Grimmjow's face, "It's _ok_ to be vulnerable once in a while, jack ass! You don't have to suffer through everything _alone_! I put myself out there for you, and you might as well have slapped me in the face. God, you have no idea how long I've wanted to fuckin' do that! I've wanted to kiss you since the first day I met you–"

Ichigo's statement was cut off as Grimmjow leaned in, his lips covering Ichigo's, effectively shutting him up. Ichigo's hands snaked into that bushel of blue hair, softer than he ever would have imagined. Ichigo's lips parted, allowing Grimmjow to delve his tongue inside Ichigo's mouth, making Ichigo's back arch as he pulled himself closer to the bluenette, a whine escaping his throat as calloused hands tugged on Ichigo's elbows, freeing him from the climbing technique. They both took a moment to breathe as new waves of emotion crashed over Ichigo, making him suck in a shaky breath, "I was scared, Grimm. They really scared me, Renji was so close…"

"I'm gonna break that fucker's legs," Grimmjow growled, running his hands in soothing circles on Ichigo's arms, calming him. It was such a simple action, but Ichigo felt his body slowly relaxing into the touch. Kami, he never wanted those hands to stop touching him. If only they could keep moving over his skin forever.

"Nnoi broke his nose," Ichigo offered, smiling at Grimmjow, the fear and hate now replaced with the present pleasant situation, "He'll never come near me again. None of them will. Nnoitra did a spectacular job."

"It's not funny, Ichi," Grimmjow said, looking concerned, "You're drunk. You'll probably go into shock later, when your mind has had time to settle down."

"I'm not drunk," Ichigo said, knitting his eyebrows together as he leaned forward, his hands gripping Grimmjow's knees, "and I don't want my mind to settle down."

"Why?" Grimmjow asked, trying not to think about his hardening cock at the orange head's closeness and the feel of his hands on his knees.

"Just keep kissing me and it won't," Ichigo informed, leaning in and claiming one that instant. Grimmjow allowed Ichigo to explore his mouth for a moment before he pushed the berry back, standing up, and dragging him to the couch, "You need to sleep."

"But I'm not tired."

"You're exhausted."

"Minor details," Ichigo mumbled, plopping down on the couch, Grimmjow moving Ichigo's legs up so that he was lying as comfortably as possible.

He left and returned a few minutes later with a clean sheet, laying it over a grumbling Ichigo. Grimmjow admired the pink tinge over his cheeks, feeling a new surge of rage at the purple and blue welts beginning to materialize on his lower jaw and temple area. He wanted nothing more than to go find Renji Abarai and dip his dick in acid, but Ichigo was his main priority and he didn't want to leave the berry's side.

He sat with him, his head resting against the side of the couch as he sat splayed on the ground, listening to Ichigo hiccup and mumble some more nonsense, something about having Grimmjow be his model for the rest of his life.

"You can draw me whenever you want, Ichi," Grimmjow murmured, Ichigo's eyes already closed.

"I wanna try somethin' new," Ichigo murmured sleepily, sighing.

"And what's that?"

Ichigo exhaled, snuggling more into the couch, "Drawin' ya with clothes."

* * *

Grimmjow sat with Ichigo until his breathing became even and deep, obviously asleep. He continued to sit there on the cold floor, head leaning back on the edge of the couch as he contemplated the situation.

Damn it, what a mess. It hadn't exactly been the brightest idea to kiss Ichigo, or allow him to kiss back, but Grimmjow's body had taken complete control before his brain came back and forced him to break it off. If he had allowed his instincts to continue, he would have fucked the berry through the floor. Grimmjow had experience with both men and women, but something about Ichigo was making him hesitate, and Grimmjow never hesitated. It was against his nature; he could look calm and collected, but internally he had the force of a tornado, demanding and destructive.

He was so good, too good, at breaking things.

And this innocent art student severely pissed him off.

Grimmjow couldn't deny the force of attraction any more than he could deny gravity was real. The berry had kept blushing, his eyes straying, and when he had unknowingly went to model for Yoruichi to keep her quiet about his illicit activities on and off campus, he couldn't believe how obviously attracted Ichigo had been to him.

Grimmjow had been amazed he had gotten through all those art classes without sporting a boner in front of all those art students. He had taken it almost as if it were a test; he was careful, not pursuing the berry, but more of letting him wander into the field. Grimmjow was a predator and the chase excited him, but he had never had to chase someone before. Usually they threw themselves at him, but through more conversations and time with Ichigo, Grimmjow had realized how different the berry was from other conquests.

Ichigo was a bit of a perfectionist, as Grimmjow had witnessed through his artwork. He was persistent and passionate, and that had made Grimmjow wonder how it would feel to have those artist's hands on his body, nails raking against his back and hips as he made Ichigo cry and scream and beg and cum so hard he went blind…

"Fuck," Grimmjow murmured, rubbing his eyes with one hand before standing up quietly so as not to wake up Ichigo. Ichigo turned on his side, mumbling something about tomatoes. Grimmjow snorted and left the break room, closing the door behind him before turning to face the three mechanics he knew would be waiting.

"He's asleep," Grimmjow said simply, "I'll stay the night with him and take him home in the morning."

"Is he okay?" Shuhei asked, obviously still in the dark to the true situation.

"He was almost fuckin' raped!" Nnoitra spat, looking disgusted, "Wha the fuck do ya think?"

Shuhei's mouth fell open, his eyes disbelieving, "Wha…what?"

"We didn't know," Stark said, defending a sputtering Shuhei.

"I shoulda put that fucker in the hospital," Nnoitra mumbled, his long form leaning against a worktable, "fuckin' stomped on that thick skull until his brains painted my boots…"

"Why didn't you?" Shuhei said, looking completely pissed, "He's a lowlife, worse than scum…"

"He begged me," Nnoitra mumbled, turning his face away from the others, "Didn' want 'im scared'a me too."

The room was silent as all contemplated what Nnoitra had just said. It was a surprise to all of them, considering Nnoitra was the most hotheaded of them all. He had a reputation for going overboard; he enjoyed fighting, fists flying and blood running. Growing up in Adjucha, a large ghetto notorious for Japanese-Spanish associated gangs, had taught him to be vicious. Grimmjow, Quatro, and Nnoitra had learned from an early age that to survive, you had better bite, scratch, and stomp on whoever threatened your safety.

But Grimmjow was more confused by Nnoitra's admission than the others, considering he knew everything about Nnoitra's past. The others were oblivious to the darkness that had eaten away at most of Nnoitra's soul. He was tough, he was cruel, but it was because it was all he had ever known. Growing up with nothing but an abusive, alcoholic uncle in a shitty neighborhood was what he claimed, but there was more to it than that. One night, his uncle had gone off crazier than usual. Drunk and angry, he had broken an empty bottle and slashed Nnoitra's eye, laughing as Nnoitra screamed in agony. He had proceeded to rape Nnoitra multiple times until he had passed out from loss of blood and pain. Nnoitra had been ten years old.

Nnoitra had been taken to a hospital, although the doctors had been unable to save the eye. The nerves had been severed and an infection had set in, leaving Nnoitra in the hospital for over a week. The eye was now a murky grey-white, the pupil color filmed over from its original violet to a very pale, sickly blue. The skin around the eye sported two noticeable scars running jaggedly from his eyebrow to his cheek, curving back to reach his ear. After leaving the hospital, Nnoitra never cut his hair again, tying a gang-related bandanna around his head at an angle that would cover his eye, both attempts to hide his past.

Aizen, the slimy bastard uncle, was locked away in prison for a sentence of 20 years to life, and Grimmjow knew without a shadow of a doubt that if that motherfucker ever was cut loose on the streets, his body would be found in a gutter by the next morning. Nnoitra would have become a ward of the district, having no other family members to turn to, so Grimmjow had begged his older half-sister and guardian to take Nnoitra in. Quatro's family had been too unstable, especially with another mouth to feed, so Grimmjow had been Nnoitra's only hope. From that day on, they had been true brothers, inseparable, along with their longtime friend Quatro.

And when Quatro died, so had a piece of both Grimmjow and Nnoitra. Grimmjow and Nnoitra had never talked about their feelings. Fuck, both pretended they didn't know what love was, labeling it loyalty to save themselves the embarrassment. Growing up how they had and living the way they did, they knew what they were.

Thugs. Punks. Delinquents. It was who they were; it was in their blood.

They were thick-skinned, protective, rebellious motherfuckers.

Because they had to be, because that was what the world had molded them into, and there was no going back.

Grimmjow stared at his tall brother, pride swelling in his chest, _"Gracias, mi hermano."_

Nnoitra nodded once, understanding him. Growing up in Adjucha had made the both of them bilingual by the age of seven. It wasn't uncommon for them to talk to each other when they had business to discuss that they didn't want the others knowing about, but it was also a symbol of sorts, of reminding each other how loyal they were to each other. They were bonded by blood, thanks to an impulsive idea in their teen years to cut their palms and clasp hands, swearing that if either ever betrayed the other, may their "blood flow red until dead." It might have been silly at the time, but it really had made them stronger. They were brothers: they'd fight, they'd laugh, they'd always have each other's backs, even though both had been avoiding each other since the fight over the NOS. Nnoitra was still pissed about it, but it was only a matter of time before he forgave him.

And Grimmjow would owe him forever for doing what he had done tonight. If Nnoitra hadn't been weightlifting that night and hadn't been near the athletic field and hadn't seen struggling shadows and bodies and hadn't heard Ichigo screaming Grimmjow's name, Nnoitra might never have gone to investigate and saved Ichigo a traumatic experience he'd never forget.

And that's what made Grimmjow amazed: that Nnoitra had faced a situation he himself had gone through, and hadn't gone completely insane and killed the three maggots on the spot. Obviously Nnoitra had a deep hate for the crime, more than most people, and the unfortunate situation might have bonded Ichigo and Nnoitra into a mutual understanding of trust and protection.

_"Yo comprendo, mi hermano largo. Hasta manana,"_ Nnoitra replied, walking out of the garage and peeling out of the lot.

Shuhei and Stark were in the dark as to what the little exchange had meant, but both sensed that Grimmjow and Nnoitra were on the same page again and the tension that had been in the shop for the past couple of days would cease. Neither had enjoyed skirting the perimeter of the two friends as they had avoided each other, neither willing to give in or forgive. Both were more stubborn than mules.

"You guys can go, I'll lock up," Grimmjow said, running a hand through his hair, "You're exhausted."

"I'm always exhausted," Stark said, hiding a yawn as he clapped Shuhei on the shoulder, "Come on, Einstein."

Grimmjow watched them leave, getting into their cars and pulling out of the lot. Grimmjow worked the chains to lower the metal doors, sliding a bolt lock in place on the other smaller door. The other garages didn't take such measures, but Grimmjow's garage had a lot more to lose considering their street racing wins and jacked-up rides were usually inside. Most of what they won in the races was dissected and either recycled into one of their own rides or sold off to Urahara. Their little business was extremely profitable, and technically illegal considering everything had been won through street racing, but Grimmjow considered it all clean money. Both parties put forth a bet, the pinks, and the victor walked away with both cars. When they had first started as teenagers, it had been all about the money. Everybody had put up the cash to race: winner took all, but at some point, racing had become too boring just for the money. The feel, the risk, the adrenaline; _that_ was worth more than the money. So soon the stakes were higher, and they were betting their own rides, cars they had put countless hours into constructing and perfecting until it would be almost criminal for anybody else to drive them.

It had always been thus, and Grimmjow's crew were no cheaters. Nnoitra and Grimm had learned to wire a car before they had learned to add and subtract, fueling their love of the machines. Of course they had done reckless and stupid things growing up, but they had learned from other motor heads and mechanics, working for free most of the time just to gain experience at different shops. Stark, although not from Adjucha, had grown up with the same obsession for cars and had gone to juvenile several times for boosting cars in swanky neighborhoods. Shuhei had simply been a complete motor head, always having focused more on cars than school or girls. He raced occasionally, but it wasn't really him. He preferred to act like a doctor and know more about the car than any human being should have the right to. He was a mechanical and technological genius, always showing the guys new programs on that damn laptop that none of the others could wrap their minds around. He'd click buttons here and there, throwing up images of a car and scrolling it, showing them the possibilities for a new ride. He was pretty much the artist of the group, while Stark specialized in efficiency with that damn-good critical eye of his, and Grimmjow and Nnoi would obsess over how to make it faster, stronger, lighter. They all brought something to the table: the unit was useless with a member missing.

Quatro had proven that. Although they were still doing well, Quatro's missing presence still startled them. Even though Quatro had died before graduating high school and it didn't make sense for the team to expect him to waltz into the garage unit with those giant intelligent green eyes and easy grace, they still wanted him to.

Grimmjow and Nnoitra had obviously known him the longest, Stark getting introduced freshman year in high school. Shuhei had transferred in his senior year, becoming good friends before Quatro's death later that year. Grimmjow had doubted Shuhei could possibly be as hurt as the rest of them, but Shuhei had surprised them all when he had shown up at Ulquiorra's funeral sporting a new facial tattoo, a solid 69 under his eye. About a year after Quatro's death, Shuhei had been asked about its significance.

_"The 6 is for Ulqui," Shuhei had said, tracing it with a finger, before brushing over the 9, "and the 9 for time." Shuhei had only known Ulquiorra 9 months, but had been affected by his death strong enough to give his friend a flesh memorial on his face, a constant reminder of what had been lost._

_"Why your face?" Grimmjow had asked, drunk off his ass. The crew had decided to come back to his and his half-sister's apartment and drink after visiting the gravesite for the one-year marker. The four of them had drunk two bottles of tequila and plenty of beer. Stark had already been sleeping, passed out on the couch while Nnoitra had been struggling to keep his head up, smoking his last cigarette. _

_Shuhei had looked at Grimmjow with eyes that belied his drunkenness as he said, "Quatro told me that he had never cried, that he had never learned how. Quatro said that he didn't understand hearts; didn't understand how he could have a heart and not cry, like he had seen some people do. A few weeks before the accident, he told me that if he couldn't cry, he should get lines tattooed under his eyes, to give the illusion. And after the accident…I – I guess I just wanted to honor him."_

And they all had honored him in some way. Shuhei had done it first, followed by Grimm getting it on his back and Nnoitra on his chest. Stark had chosen his forearm.

And whenever they raced, every time they won, they would hold up four fingers in victory to remember their fallen brother Quatro, their beloved number four.

Grimmjow shut off the overhead lights. With darkness, Grimmjow went back to the break room, settling on the other unoccupied couch. He had just started to drift off when he was suddenly annoyed with something that could only be a ring tone:

_"Youuuu! I wanna take ya' to a GAY BAR!_

_I wanna take ya to a GAY BAR!_

_I wanna take ya to a GAY bar GAY bar GAY bar…!"_

Grimmjow quickly searched through Ichigo's backpack, not wanting it to wake the poor kid up. He flipped it open to look at the name, sighing. He supposed he would have to answer it.

_"…Let's start a war!_

_Start a nuclear war!_

_At the GAY BAR GAY BAR GAY –"_

"Hello?" Grimmjow murmured into the receiver.

"Who the fuck is this?" an annoyed Shinji interrogated, "Where's Ichi?"

"It's Grimmjow," Grimmjow nearly growled, "and he's at the garage."

"What the hell? !" Shinji yelled loud enough for Grimmjow to move the phone away from his ear, "You little bastard! You frickin', good for nothin' heartbreaker! Jesus, it was just a kiss, and you –"

"He isn't here for me," Grimmjow defended, lowering his voice so as not to wake up Ichi, "Renji attacked him. Tried to…hurt him."

Shinji hesitated, then started speaking a mile a minute, "What? Renji? Is he hurt? Is Ichigo hurt? What happened? Tell me, dammit!"

"Renji tried to…" Grimm swallowed convulsively, the rage beginning to build in his chest again, "Renji and his friends jumped him, got him on the ground. He…almost did it. Nnoitra heard the screams in time."

There was complete silence, Shinji's breathing becoming erratic, "oh God, oh God _oh God…!_"

"He's okay. Nnoitra nearly killed Renji. Ichigo's safe now."

"It's all my fault!" Shinji wailed, sobbing into the phone, "It's all my fault Renji hates him! If I hadn't, hadn't gotten him so mad…!"

Grimmjow listened to Shinji sob, feeling extremely uncomfortable. He was very bad with emotions, especially when those emotions were being expressed over the phone by somebody he barely knew, "He needs to sleep. I'm staying with him here overnight and I'll meet you in the morning."

"Like hell!" Shinji bellowed ferociously, "I'm coming over!"

Grimmjow tried not to hiss, "It's dark, you're alone, and on the other side of the campus. Renji and his goons got hurt bad, but I can't guarantee they aren't out there. I don't want to be responsible for you –"

"It's a damn good thing you're not!" Shinji growled, "And I don't care if hell is freezing over, I'm already on my way!"

Grimmjow growled at the dial tone, thoroughly pissed off at the blonde. Grimmjow cursed under his breath a few times before staring over at Ichigo's sleeping face, his mouth slightly open as he breathed. His orange bangs were swept across his forehead, his cheeks slightly red from the booze. Grimmjow noticed a tiny splatter of golden freckles across his cheekbones, giving him the sudden urge to lick over that smooth flesh, creating a trail down that sculpted face and neck until he reached more of that creamy, delicious hidden body.

Ichigo had seen Grimmjow naked a dozen times, and that made Grimmjow think life was a little bit unfair. And as he thought about that body, it made new hate coil in his stomach towards the maggots that had tried to hurt Ichigo. How could anybody want to hurt something so innocent, so beautiful?

Grimmjow stood up, not even realizing he had walked over and was now leaning in towards the berry, studying him even closer as he slept. Tentatively, he reached out a hand and ran it through those unique orange locks, marveling at the softness. He kept his touch light so as not to wake him. He stiffened when Ichigo's head seemed to almost nuzzle against his hand like a cat before shifting a little bit and sighing. Grimmjow stared at his hand, the hand that Ichigo had just nuzzled. He felt like every nerve ending in his hand was tingling, an icy-hot sensation not entirely unpleasant. If he had been in denial about their chemistry before, he was a dumbass if he couldn't see and feel it now.

Shaking his head to clear the thought, he left the room quietly to wait outside the garage for the annoying, flaming blonde. He was eccentric and changed emotions like girls seemed to change tampons, but he was as loyal as they came, and Grimmjow had to respect him for that.

Maybe he would manage not to strangle the blonde before sunrise after all.


	4. Fire

**This chapter is for Racey, my lovely partner in crime. I want to marry her someday! xD**

* * *

**Tear It Up**

**Chapter 4: Fire**

* * *

Ichigo rolled over, fighting the urge to wake up. He knew he was half there already, but he wanted to go back to the dream.

It had been a nice one, one of the best ones yet.

"Don't move, Ichigo," Grimmjow warned silkily, dipping a paintbrush into a small container of paint, "You don't want me to mess up, do you?"

"Mm," Ichigo whined, practically trembling. He was lying on the dais at the drawing studio, naked as the day he was born, his skin flushed a beautiful pink as he tried to control his aroused body. Grimmjow, for the first time in any of Ichigo's daydreams, was fully clothed, his blue eyes tinged with lust as he concentrated on stroking the paintbrush over one of Ichigo's very sensitive nipples. Ichigo was faintly aware that his classmates were present, their drawing mediums scratching over paper as they tried to capture the lewd models before them. Ichigo wanted to panic, but then he remembered he was dreaming and didn't give them a second thought.

"You're perfect together," Yoruichi encouraged from somewhere in the room, "Capture this moment; make it breathe life."

Ichigo forgot about the other spectators completely when Grimmjow's hand strayed to Ichigo's neglected cock, the paintbrush's tip teasing his weeping length. God damn him! Ichigo was literally about ready to lose his mind.

"Hnnn…Grimm," Ichigo panted, impatient. Grimmjow's other hand was planted firmly on one of Ichigo's hips, keeping him from trying to rub up against Grimmjow for some kind of friction. Grimmjow had said he was painting a cherry blossom tree on Ichigo's chest, and wouldn't pay Ichigo any attention until it was complete.

"Living art work," Grimmjow had chuckled, his hot breath close to Ichigo's chest as he carefully squiggled more blossoms, making Ichigo's breath hitch, "You're so beautiful like this, it makes me want to…"

"Please," Ichigo begged, his hands now in those gorgeous blue locks, trying to force Grimmjow's head to his lips, "Please, just take me, Grimm!"

Those murderously beautiful blue eyes locked on his crazed brown ones, a small smile working across his lips as he leaned into Ichigo, effectively smearing the masterpiece, "I'm a Barbie Girl."

"What?" Ichigo asked, his arousal temporarily forgotten at the strange declaration.

_"I'm a Barbie Girl, in a Barbie world,"_ Grimmjow continued, his voice changing from sexy to high-pitched and slightly annoying, _"You can brush my hair, undress me everywhere…imagination, life is your creation…"_

Suddenly Yoruichi catapulted onto the dais, her large, cat-like eyes gleaming as she pointed a finger at Ichigo, her voice deep and manly, _"Come on Barbie, let's go party!"_

* * *

_"AHHHHHHHHH!"_ Ichigo jolted awake, flailing his arms and nearly falling off of the unfamiliar leather couch.

"Ichi!" Shinji gasped, his earplugs falling completely out of his ears at the surprise of his friend coming back from the dead.

Before Ichigo could be confused as to where he was and why Shinji was there, he could hear the music that was blasting through Shinji's ear phones and was immediately angry, "Jesus Christ, Shinji! Way to ruin the fuckin' moment!"

"Wha…?" Shinji looked completely shocked, then stuck out his bottom lip, like he was about to pout, "What did I do?"

Ichigo pointed an angry finger at the ipod, sputtering for something to say, probably looking one hundred and ten percent mental. Ichigo cussed at the ipod for several seconds before just throwing his head against the leather armrest and groaning.

"Did they give you pain medication or something?" Shinji finally murmured, turning his ipod off and staring at his best friend (who's face was still currently buried into the armrest) as if he were demon possessed, "That stuff messes with my head, too."

"Just forget it," Ichigo said, turning his head to the side and sighing. Oh well. Hopefully it would come back to him that night.

Now that he was fully awake, he stared at Shinji before taking in his surroundings.

_Oh no._

Last night's events came slamming back into him with the force of a high speed train, all the details, even the ones with him being nicely buzzed and out of his right mind when he had yelled his head off at Grimmjow.

And Grimmjow had…kissed him?

Or had that been a dream to? He knew that what had happened with Renji was most definitely a nightmare, but it had almost happened. Nnoitra, Stark, Shuhei, that hadn't been made up, but what had happened with Grimmjow…was that real too?

"I suppose you're remembering yourself now," Shinji said, folding his legs up underneath him as he sat on the other couch across from Ichigo, "I came over as soon as Grimmjow explained everything."

"Grimmjow called you?" Ichigo croaked, disbelieving.

"No, I called you, and he happened to pick up," Shinji said, rolling his eyes, "That bastard thought I'd wait until morning to see you were alright, but I told him where to stick it."

Ichigo sat up, staring at Shinji as if he were a saint. God, where would he be without a friend like Shinji? Honestly, Ichigo couldn't wrap his mind around the concept. They had taken care of each other practically their entire lives, and when Ichigo's mom had died, Shinji had been the one friend at his side, even being brave enough to crawl into bed with him and hug him as he had cried himself to sleep. Things hadn't changed much, considering Shinji had been by his side both the nights Ichigo had cried himself to sleep over Grimmjow. Jesus, when had he become such a girl? Ichigo had returned the favor when Shinji's pet hamster had died and he'd cried for days, but it just wasn't on the same level, no matter how much Shinji had insisted Momo-chan had practically been a sister to him.

Burying Momo-chan had fallen to Ichigo's responsibility, as Shinji had been beside himself with grief and unwilling to get his freshly-manicured fingernails dirty by digging in the dirt in his mother's backyard garden. They had been eleven.

The other time had come in middle school, when Shinji had been rejected by a straight guy on Valentine's Day. Of course Ichigo had done everything in his power to stop the crazed blonde from confessing, but Shinji had been cocky, so sure that he could pull it off. Of course the kid freaked out, ran away from Shinji as if you could catch gay like catching a cold. Shinji had been nearly comatose with grief for over a month, and Ichigo had spent more time than he was willing to admit with Shinji listening to Japanese and American love ballads while feasting on gallons of ice cream. He had even given in and let Shinji give him a make over, treating Ichigo like a life size Barbie for over a week.

But that's what friends did for each other. A friend would tell you that you didn't look like a fool by accidentally spilling mustard all over your shirt at a party, insisting nobody would even notice.

But a best friend would spill mustard on their own shirt, shrug, and own the look like it was all the rage in Paris. That's what Shinji was like; he never let Ichigo suffer alone.

"You're the best, Shin," Ichigo said, smiling at his friend who only grinned back at him.

"Tell me something I don't already know," Shinji winked, sighing dramatically, "Anyways, how about you tell me how you want Renji's dick removed? I'm personally in favor of sawing it off with a box cutter, tossing it in flour and frying it, then serving it to his little mindless posse of goons and making them eat it."

Ichigo wanted to laugh at Shinji's attempt to make him feel better. Honestly, the fear wasn't there anymore. Renji would never come near him again; Nnoitra had made sure of that. And not only Nnoitra, Grimmjow had vehemently shown how angry he was. If Renji valued his life, he'd leave the campus for good, transfer out to another university where he would either continue wreaking his pointless havoc or turning over a new leaf. Ichigo honestly hoped Nnoitra had beaten some good sense into him and made him reevaluate a few things in his tiny monkey brain.

But he didn't want to think about it anymore, even though his face felt like he had gotten botox injections it was so stiff and sore. Ichigo ran his hands from his temples to his chin, then across his nose and wincing when he got to his left cheek.

"You're a little swollen, "Shinji said, getting up and approaching Ichigo, placing fingers very gently against the side of his head, "and a gash on your ear, your lip is a little cut and swollen, but you still have all your teeth, thank Kami."

"It doesn't feel that bad," Ichigo said, shrugging, "Just…strange."

"Well, better than feeling pain I suppose," Shinji said, just as the door to the break room opened and a tired-looking Grimmjow shuffled in. He stopped when he saw that Ichigo was sitting up and awake, his eyes diverting for a second before lighting back on the berry, "Hey."

"Hey," Ichigo replied, swallowing several times. He felt shy. God, of course he would! Especially after what had happened last night. Suddenly, Ichigo was grateful that Renji had attacked him last night. It was sick and twisted, but if Renji hadn't jumped him and Nnoitra hadn't taken him back here, they'd still be avoiding each other, not confronting each other about the obvious problem between them.

And oh Kami, it was a problem. The magnetism Ichigo had towards the blue-haired beast obviously wasn't an exclusive feeling: Grimmjow had proven that last night, when his lips had come to Ichigo's of their own volition.

And now both of them were staring at each other like they had lost all forms of speech.

"Ya got a coffee maker around here?" Shinji complained, desperate for the two boys to hurry up with some more social interaction, "I'm pretty sure caffeine restores your brain functioning to the level of amoebas."

Ichigo sent an annoyed look at Shinji when Grimmjow told him they did in fact have one and proceeded to walk over to the kitchenette and prepare some instant coffee.

The process didn't take long, and Shinji kept nodding at Ichigo and jerking his head to the side, his eyes wide, obviously telling Ichigo to get over there and make some obvious verbal roadway with the bluenette.

Damn Shinji and his people skills.

Ichigo stood up slowly and approached the quiet bluenette, the percolator of the coffee machine coming to life as Grimmjow sighed.

"Uh," Ichigo began, internally chastising himself. Yeah, what a great way to start off an apology. Why don't you write an educational pamphlet on proper grammar, you idiot?, "thanks, Grimmjow."

Grimmjow turned his head to the side, than looked back at the coffee maker, "I don't know what you're thanking me for. I was useless yesterday."

Ichigo remembered with a pang that he had told Grimmjow about him not being there to save him, and it made him clench his hands, trying to calm himself, "Yeah, you did. Nnoitra might've saved me from...Renji, but he only did it 'cuz of you. If I hadn't met you…I don't know. And then, coming back here last night…"

"Look," Grimmjow said, turning, his arms leaning back against the counter as he stared at Ichigo. If that's what Grimmjow wanted him to do, Ichigo happily complied. Ichigo studied the rumpled look of his clothing, the way his hair was pushed back in a sloppy mess, and the realization that stubble was beginning to make itself known on that perfectly sculpted face, which only made Ichigo stare at those marble lips that had been on his last night.

Even tired and dirty, Grimmjow screamed sex. It just wasn't fair.

"I realize now it was a mistake to ignore your obvious feelings for me," Grimmjow continued, being blunt, "I've been attracted to you since the moment I met you, but it's different with you. I feel like I have to be…careful."

Ichigo blinked at him several times before responding, "Careful?"

Grimmjow ran a hand through his blue hair, his eyes slightly bloodshot, "I'm not…I'm not good with people. I'm not good _for_ people. I don't get attached easily, and I can't guarantee that this, what we have, will even work out, but I want to be honest with you, because you've been on my mind since that day in the field."

Ichigo's eyes widened, his knees feeling like they were going to give out from under him. Since the field? Really? Ichigo felt like an idiot: so there had been attraction on Grimmjow's end; he had just been too wound up in his own head to recognize it.

"So…" Ichigo began, looking away briefly before looking back at Grimmjow, "is this your way of confessing?"

Grimmjow sighed, turning back to the coffee maker, grabbing the pot of finished coffee and pouring three mugs he had set out, "You're putting words in my mouth."

Instead of getting angry, Ichigo felt a smile split his face in half. He wanted to whoop with victory, throw his fist in the air and jump around for a good day or two before falling down exhausted and dreaming about the man that had just said all that not-so-romantic-but-vulnerable-and-cute bullshit. Well, it was a start, wasn't it? And that was all that mattered.

"I'll take that as a yes," he said, accepting a steaming mug of coffee from Grimmjow's hand, "now, how about some breakfast to go with this coffee?"

* * *

"What's with the tea party?" Starrk asked, a lazy grin on his face as he entered the break room in clean jeans and a vintage t-shirt about an hour later.

"Breakfast," Ichigo defended, holding up a large muffin towards the mechanic, "we brought back some for everybody."

Grimmjow had driven them to a convenience store just off campus that was quite famous for breakfast goodies. It also helped that Hanatarou, a friend of Ichigo's, happened to work at said-convenience store and hooked him up when his manager wasn't paying attention. Nothing like warm muffins and bottled orange juice to start the day off, along with the coffee Grimmjow had made for them earlier.

"Thanks," Starrk said, accepting the muffin from Ichigo, "You feeling better?"

"Yeah, I'm good," Ichigo said, grinning like an idiot. He was still trying to contain his joy over what Grimmjow had said earlier, "More than good."

Starrk nodded his head, taking a bite out of his muffin. They had all finished with their breakfast and were chatting about their plans for the day when the break room door swung open again, revealing a snickering Shuhei and a gorgeous woman. Her skin was darker than the others', a creamy caramel color. Her blonde hair was styled almost punk-like. Her long, Amazonian legs seemed to stretch for days, her chest heavy with some of the biggest breasts Ichigo had ever seen. Her form-fitting shirt was cut short, like her boobs were getting ready to play peek-a-boo. Two silver studs glinted in her belly button as her hips swayed sensually towards the table, her lips revealing a smile as Shinji got up from the table.

"Hal!" Shinji squealed, launching towards the blonde and giving her a hug, "It's been awhile, love! How have you been? God, there's no way I'm putting you in those heels for the next show; I think you've grown another inch and a half since last semester!"

Hal grinned at Shinji, giving him a kiss on the cheek, "I've been measuring. No more growing for me, doll face."

Shinji grinned, turning towards Ichigo, "This is the lovely Miss Halibel, my favorite model. Hal, Ichi. Ichi, Hal."

Hal waved her hand slightly at Ichigo and Ichigo nodded at her, stuffing the rest of his muffin in his mouth to avoid speaking. He had heard a lot about her from Shinji, and damn he hadn't been kidding. She was a knockout; a total babe. On a scale of one to ten, she'd range somewhere in the twenties.

"Starrk," she said, flitting to his side and holding out a paper bag she had walked in with, "you forgot your lunch."

"Oh, thanks, babe," Stark said, grabbing the bag and leaning in to kiss her on the cheek. He was only about an inch taller than her.

"You always forget when you have to get up early in the morning," Shuhei commented, pouring a mug of coffee for himself, "No matter how many hours of sleep you get, you're always so lethargic."

Starrk had his hand on one of Hal's hips, a grin sliding onto his face, "Apparently you think I have time to sleep when I go home to this girl."

Shinji, Grimmjow, and Shuhei laughed while Ichigo blushed and Halibel slapped Starrk's shoulder playfully, "You act like a perverted old man."

"And you love it," he said silkily, his breath tickling her ear. Ichigo had never seen Starrk engage in such flirtatious behavior. He didn't know if his blush would ever die down. Shinji kicked him under the table, making him curse.

"You're a greedy little bastard," Shinji commented, taking a sip of his orange juice, "You got the hottest delinquent on campus interested in you and now you want the hot narcoleptic mechanic! What's next, the sexy pirate mechanic?"

"Did you just call me a pirate?" an irritated Nnoitra said, walking into the break room in baggy jeans with a long wallet chain jingling. He was wearing a white sleeveless top with a skull that declared "Death Before Dishonor". Black and grey tattoos slinked down both arms, stopping at his elbows. He had a cigarette planted firmly between his teeth, a white eye patch sporting a black 5 over the eye everybody but Grimmjow had yet to see. His long black hair was pulled back into a ponytail, looking anything but girly. Ichigo swallowed, kind of taken aback at how attractive Nnoitra's _"I don't give a fuck"_ bad boy routine was.

Shinji whistled through his teeth, staring at Nnoitra appreciatively, "I'd let that pirate shivvey me timbers."

Starrk and Shuhei howled with laughter as Nnoitra approached the coffee pot, "Che, if I hadn't heard ya call me sexy first, I'd probably a'punched ya."

"We understand that you're a bad ass," Shinji said, arms crossing over his chest as his smirk was playful, "no need to flaunt it so much, cutie."

"Stop it," Ichigo murmured under his breath, Grimmjow giving him an amused look.

Nnoitra had stiffened visibly at the mention of the word 'cutie'. He turned towards the table, so tall and menacing in that moment that Ichigo wanted nothing more than to crawl under the table and hide, "Call me that again, and I'll rip that cock-sucking tongue out of yer mouth."

"Well then, _cutie_, I guess it's a good thing I'm a masochist," Shinji shot back, giggling. Shuhei and Stark couldn't help but laugh as Grimmjow grinned, even though Nnoitra's face betrayed something akin to rage.

Ichigo wanted to punch his best friend: obviously Shinji had changed his mind about the incredibly tall mechanic and was in the middle of his ritualistic teasing game. By the end of the week, he'd either be dead or in bed with the vehemently anti-gay mechanic.

Ichigo wanted to place bets, but he didn't know if there would be any takers. Shinji never lost.

* * *

After Nnoitra had stopped making empty threats towards Shinji, the group dispersed to their different jobs, all of them seeming to have different agendas. Grimmjow led Ichigo and Shinji out towards the garage, intent on taking them back to their dorm when they all heard tires screeching on the pavement right outside the garage door. Everybody dropped what they were doing and headed towards the mouth of the garage, which was only half-open at the moment because the boys had just begun preparing for their day and hadn't felt the need to open it all the way yet. The boys ducked under, Ichigo following behind Grimmjow.

It was an unmarked black Honda Civic. Not exactly a flashy car, but they weren't exactly built for looks. This one looked like it was built for speed, a little rice burner. Ichigo was extremely ignorant when it came to cars, but even he noticed the treads on the tires and the expensive look of them screamed street racing. The windows were tinted to a hue that Ichigo knew was beyond illegal, but he couldn't help but admire how the car looked uniform like that, the windows as dark as the paint, giving it a Batmobile feel. Very nice.

The passenger door opened first, a very tall, dark-skinned man getting out. His hair was in long, thick dreads that were pulled back on his head and trailing down his back. Silver sunglasses rested over his eyes, hiding them from the onlookers. When he was fully out of the car, he looked stiff, not quite right. He made Ichigo a little nervous.

The driver's door opened next, and Ichigo didn't know how to react. He'd never seen an albino before, but he imagined this guy had to be one, as his skin was so white it nearly matched the white v-neck the stranger wore. His hair was white as well, and Ichigo couldn't see his eyes due to the pair of black sunglasses.

The stranger leered at the onlookers, making his way around the car and standing only a few feet away from Grimmjow, "Heyya, Bluebell. Long time no race, ne?"

Grimmjow looked relaxed, but that didn't mean anything. Ichigo saw that he wasn't hiding a wrench this time, "What're you doing here, Shirosaki?"

"Well, nice 'ta know yer still charming," the albino laughed, "Good, I never liked formalities anyway."

"Well I don't give a fuck why you're here," Nnoitra spat, stepping forward, "spit it out, or get out."

"Now now," Shirosaki mocked, wagging a finger at Nnoitra, "I don't want any trouble. At least not yet. That's why Mr. Kaname here decided to tag along. Knew I'd lose my head, like I tend to do, but I ain't here ta tango with you, Spoonhead. I'm here ta relay a message ta your glorious leader."

Grimmjow cocked his head, like he was deciding between pounding the little shit into the asphalt or listening, "Then speak."

Shiro grinned, exposing sharp-looking canines. Ichigo shivered as Shirosaki pushed down his sunglasses to the end of his nose, revealing inverted black-and-gold eyes. Obviously they were meant to intimidate, but Grimmjow seemed unfazed.

"Ichimaru's back in town," he said, the statement accompanied by a smile, "and wanted ta invite ya to a race in Las Noches ta'night. Hoped ya'd be interested, seein' as he's racin'."

This information meant nothing to Ichigo, but one look at the faces of the people around him besides Shinji and seeing the stiffness in Grimmjow's spine told him that this was, if anything, surprising.

Ichigo looked behind him at Shuhei, who was shaking slightly, his eyes wide as he stared at the ground. Ichigo looked back at the creepy Shirosaki, trying to make sense of it. Was Shuhei actually afraid? Starrk looked contemplative, while Nnoitra looked like he might murder the albino right then and there. Grimmjow leaned to the side, his eyes never leaving Shirosaki's face, "What're the stakes?"

"Pinks, of course," Shiro said, shrugging like betting a car was the equivalent of a dollar, "just a friendly invitation. I know ya boys haven't been racin' nearly as much lately, so I thought'ya'd be up for the challenge."

He pushed his glasses back up, turning his back and walking to his car. The other man, Kaname, had not seemed to move even a millimeter since getting out of the car. He had been standing next to it patiently like a soldier until Shirosaki opened the driver's door and started to get inside. Kaname disappeared into the car, Shirosaki about halfway in before throwing back, "See 'ya tonight, boys."

After Shirosaki effectively burned rubber in the lot, Nnoitra cussed and headed back into the garage, banging his hand on the metal before entering. Ichigo looked at Shuhei to see if there were still traces of panic in his eyes, but it was replaced with a deadened look that Ichigo hadn't expected. He disappeared into the garage as well without a word while Stark said something to Grimmjow and he nodded.

"I wanna see a race!" Shinji offered, throwing everybody off guard, "Seriously, this is so cool! You guys gotta go! I want to see what you guys can do, and that ghost-guy was _creepyyyy_."

"Shin, I don't think they want to drag us into their business," Ichigo said calmly, trying to give his oblivious friend a subtle warning.

Stark said something else to Grimmjow that they couldn't hear before heading back into the garage. Grimmjow turned to them, nodding his head towards the path that would lead them across campus, "Come on, I'll walk you back."

As soon as they set out on the path, Shinji began blabbing about what he had heard and practically whining over how he wanted to see a street race. Ichigo wished he could shut him up, but Grimmjow didn't seem upset over it, so he let it go.

"And who's this Ichimaru guy? Sounds fishy to me. He a criminal or something?" Shinji asked, making Ichigo punch him in the shoulder.

Grimmjow was ahead of them and didn't turn around as he said, "A guy from a lifetime ago. I just can't believe he's back. It's been two years."

"Oooh, I love a good drama!" Shinji giggled, catching up to Grimmjow to interrogate him, "So…? Obviously he races, and obviously you guys got something against him, seeing as all of you tightened up like clams as soon as Ghost Man said his name…"

"Shinji, leave him alone," Ichigo defended, pushing Shinji in the shoulder, "It's none of our business."

"I'm _just_ curious," Shinji said, sticking his tongue out at Ichigo.

Grimmjow stopped and turned around, his eyes on Shinji, "His brother died in an accident four years ago, along with one of my brothers. He stayed on the circuit for a while, but he disappeared about two years ago without any word. Didn't tell anybody, and now apparently he's back."

Shinji's eyes were wide while Ichigo felt his throat constrict.

"They both died?" Shinji said quietly.

Grimmjow nodded once, not making eye contact, "Quatro was clipped, spun out of control, and hit Ukitake's car. Ukitake died instantly while Quatro burned to death."

"Oh my God," Shinji said, shaking his head, "Well, then what the hell happened to the guy that clipped him? Didn't he get arrested or something?"

Ichigo stiffened at Shinji's question: he had never even thought about that.

Grimmjow rubbed his eyes with one hand before shaking his head, his eyes locking on the blonde's, "It's street-racing. Everybody cleared out before the cops got there. Only a few of us stayed behind to try and take the fire out, but by then it was already too late."

"Why don't you go after the bastard?" Shinji said, looking angry, "If I was you, I'd hunt that bastard down and…"

"It's a little more complicated than that," Grimmjow said, "he's already dead."

Ichigo's eyes widened, "What?"

"The man that clipped Quatro and killed Ukitake was found dead a couple years ago. The police said gang-related activity."

"Are you _serious_?" Shinji's jaw had dropped.

"Shot and dumped in the Los Noches River."

Ichigo's spine tingled at the information, but Grimmjow continued, "We share bad history, bad memories. So when he disappeared, we were cool with that. Apparently his crew stayed loyal, and now he's back."

* * *

Grimmjow had walked them to their dorm room door, his hands in his jeans pockets, looking utterly exhausted. After the night's events and this morning's invitation, Ichigo could understand.

"You want to come in for a while?" Ichigo blurted, "You look exhausted, and there really isn't any quiet back at the garage."

Grimmjow ran a hand over his face before sighing under his breath, "What I really need is a shower."

Ichigo's pulse quickened, his lips immediately speaking his mind, "You can take one here. I can run your clothes to the laundry room for you."

For a second Ichigo was afraid that he'd say no, but when Grimmjow sighed heavily again and took a step inside, Ichigo thought his heart might beat right out of his chest.

"If it's okay with you. We don't have a shower at the garage, and I don't think I could stay awake long enough to drive home."

"You don't live on campus?"

"Been living in an apartment about twenty minutes from campus for nearly a year," Grimmjow offered, making his way to the bathroom.

Shinji raised his eyebrows at Ichigo before wiggling them suggestively. Ichigo picked up a shoe off of the floor and threw it at his friend, annoyed when he dodged and giggled.

"Well I have fittings today, so I'd better get going," Shinji said loudly, winking at Ichigo as he grabbed his supplies and a few bags he had stashed by the door, "I'll see you tonight, Ichi."

"Bye," Ichigo said, internally thankful for Shinji's sly escape. Damn him for being such a good friend!

Ichigo's attention turned from Shinji's retreating back and the closing of the bedroom door to the sound of the shower being turned on. His face flaming, he made his way over there, sticking his hand through the doorway, "Throw me your clothes so I can go wash them."

* * *

Grimmjow looked over at the bathroom doorway, a grin sliding onto his face as he saw a familiar artist's hand palm-up through the door. What? Now the berry was going to be all shy?

Grimmjow held his shirt in his hands, his jeans slung low on his hips as he contemplated the situation. He wanted to laugh, which was weird. Maybe he was just too tired. He hadn't slept in over twenty-four hours, unable to get comfortable in a chair last night since Shinji had declared he deserved the other unoccupied couch, the little bastard.

But Grimmjow could forgive him, considering that same bastard had just declared loudly that he was leaving for the day and wouldn't be back till late. What joy.

Steam began to fill the small bathroom and Grimmjow approached the door, leaning in the doorframe as he stared at the scrunched-up closed eyes of Ichigo. So modest.

"You've seen me naked a hundred times," he said, feeling excited when Ichigo's eyes opened and he sucked in a breath, his eyes raking over Grimmjow's body. He had to admit, he liked the way the berry looked at him, appreciated him. He knew part of it was the inner artist's eye, but how much of it was lust?

Grimmjow was tired: it was the only explanation for why he was teasing. After all, he didn't usually play this game. Talking had never been his forte; actions had always spoken louder than words, and damn it all to hell if he didn't want to make the berry scream with some of the actions Grimmjow had running through his brain at the moment.

"Th-that's different," Ichigo finally defended, yanking the shirt out of Grimmjow's hand, "that's in an artistic setting, an educational environment, and…"

Grimmjow's grin was lazy and loveable, "Ya run out of excuses yet?"

Ichigo shook his head no, although his eyes screamed yes, "J-just, get naked already so I can do my job!"

Grimmjow tried to hold it in, but he couldn't. He laughed, good and hard while Ichigo's face had turned the most brilliant shade of magenta he had ever seen.

"That sounded kinda kinky," Grimmjow husked, his hot breath dancing across the berry's face as he leaned in, still in the doorway. How long would it take to drive the berry positively out of his mind?

* * *

If Grimmjow was trying to make Ichigo lose his mind, he was doing a fucking fantastic job so far.

"Sh-shut up," Ichigo struggled, trying to remember how to breathe. _Fuck_, what was this fantastically sexy motherfucker trying to do to him? Obviously send him into cardiac arrest. Jesus, every nerve ending in his body was attentive, waiting for a touch or a caress, anything. Ichigo sucked in a breath, trying to remain calm as he stood motionless, Grimmjow's shirt still clutched in his hand, "I-I didn't mean it like that and you know it."

Grimmjow's face contorted into a lazy grin as his blue locks fell forward on his forehead, his blue eyes teasing, those bedroom eyes set on his – Dear GOD – Ichigo was about to cum in his pants, and he hadn't even been touched yet.

"Then take 'em," Grimmjow challenged, his arms braced on either side of the doorframe for support as he stared at Ichigo, a grin forming on his face, "The belt's not that hard to figure out."

_He's really going to kill me. This sick, sadistic bastard is going to be the death of me, and I'm...enjoying it. _

"Fine," Ichigo said, trying to look unaffected as he put a hand on Grimmjow's belt buckle and began working the strap free with the other hand, "You're so immature."

Grimmjow just chuckled, the sexiest, throatiest chuckle Ichigo had ever heard and it nearly made him moan with want. Shit, he was already rock hard. Was this considered foreplay? Because if it wasn't, Ichigo was embarrassed at the state of his cock right then.

Ichigo stopped breathing as he pulled the belt free, those jeans sliding just centimeters down those tantalizingly cut hips.

"Christ," Ichigo whispered to himself, his finger tugging at the zipper. Grimmjow still hadn't moved, hadn't said anything, hadn't done anything, and it was making Ichigo so nervous his stomach felt like it was in his throat.

"Almost there," Grimmjow encouraged, his voice low.

_Just kill me_, Ichigo thought, his fingers fumbling with the button that stood between Ichigo and that glorious cock he had drawn a hundred times, JUST END MY VERY EXISTANCE IF THIS IS A DREAM.

His fingers shook nearly uncontrollably as his breathing became labored, his head bent to keep himself from embarrassing eye contact. What had possessed him to play into this game? It was bound to end terribly, bound to…

Ichigo gasped as Grimmjow's hands settled on Ichigo's hips, tugging him closer.

"You're taking too long," Grimmjow murmured against Ichigo's ear, making him shiver from the tips of his hair to the tips of his toes, "There won't be any warm water left if you don't hurry up."

_Oh. My God_. Ichigo's brain had just exploded.

"Wh-wha?" he asked breathlessly, turning his eyes up to meet the bluenette's.

* * *

Fucking shit on a stick but this berry was beautiful.

Grimmjow had merely meant to tease him, but the cloudy eyes that had turned up to him a second ago were lost, utterly lost in what Grimmjow hoped was lust. God, he was harder than a steel pipe right now, especially since Ichigo had surprised him and agreed to strip him. It had been meant as a little joke, had been meant to embarrass the berry so that he'd blush some more, but surprisingly the berry had taken the challenge.

And Grimmjow had never been more turned on.

He could feel the heat at his back, the shower beckoning to him to come before that warmth was lost.

But he didn't want to go in alone, and he sure as hell wasn't about to slam the bathroom door in a lust-filled Ichigo's face. That was too much torture.

So he tentatively began to rub the palms of his hands in massaging circles on Ichigo's hips, happy when Ichigo's knees began to shake and he sucked in a breath, moaning softly.

Oh but that had been a beautiful sound.

His hands finally grew tired of the little massage and slid continuously to his ass cheeks, grabbing there firmly and Grimmjow felt his dick twitch when the berry's breath hitched again at the contact, "Grimmjow..."

Oh _fuck this_.

Using his hard-earned upper body strength, Grimmjow pulled the berry up by his ass, surprising the shit out of him and making him lock his legs around Grimmjow's hips, effectively pushing his jeans a little farther down his hips, until they were in danger of falling off of his ass. Still holding the berry up by his ass, Ichigo's arms now wrapped around his neck while his legs stayed nice and tight around Grimmjow's hips.

They breathed against each other's mouths, neither knowing what to do next. Shit, his mind was absolutely reeling; he could smell the blueberry muffin he had ate and the orange juice he had sipped, even the thick, wonderful smell of coffee coming from that perfectly kissable mouth.

"Come on," Ichigo husked, thrusting his hips up against the bluenette and making him growl, "Don't stop, don't stop…"

"_Fuck_," Grimmjow hissed, very carefully carrying the berry into the bathroom and throwing him up against the wall of the shower.

* * *

Warm water sprayed over them, but they were oblivious, too lost in each other's heat. Grimmjow's tongue thrust into Ichigo's mouth, making him moan as he allowed himself to be swept up in the sensation. For a brief moment, Stark's words from a week ago came back to him:

"_Remember, he lives his life a second at a time. A spark might last only a moment with him."_

A spark…a spark…this was a full-blown _fire_.

He was burning, absolutely burning to death, and he couldn't think of a more beautiful way to die. Burning, burning, everywhere was burning. Those hands, that tongue, those teeth, the incredible body pressed up against his, the one his legs were still gripped around, his clothes soaked through to the skin, yet still he burned.

He let Grimmjow pull his shirt up, a sinful tongue nipping at smooth skin. He began to tongue lazy circles around Ichigo's sensitive nipples, making him buck against Grimmjow until Grimmjow hissed.

"Ichigo," he said gruffly, forcing the berry to unlock his legs and stand up shakily in the shower.

Great. Now he was mad. He knew he shouldn't have done anything, shouldn't have let it get this far. After all, he had practically begged Grimmjow to take him, and now he was regretting it, wasn't he?

Grimmjow's hands worked quickly, stunning Ichigo when he was in nothing but his boxers, those removed in less time than it had taken the jeans. Ichigo lifted his feet as Grimmjow threw the clothes out of the shower and, more importantly, out of the way.

Grimmjow's tongue was suddenly back in his mouth as he ran large, strong hands over Ichigo's ass, making him whimper.

Shit shit shit, but their erections were pressed together now, and all he wanted Grimmjow to do was fuck him so long and hard that he went blind and became one with the universe.

"Fuck me," Ichigo ordered, biting Grimmjow's bottom lip as those hands kneaded Ichigo's firm ass cheeks.

* * *

Grimmjow thought his legs would give out from under him at the berry's words.

Fuck him? Dear God in heaven, that was the only thing on his mind right then.

And who was he to turn down such an innocent offer?

It didn't seem humanly possible, but Grimmjow felt his dick get even harder at the way Ichigo had said it. The berry just continued to surprise him.

"Absolutely," he growled, and not-so-gently throwing the berry down on the floor of the shower and spreading his legs. Grimmjow grabbed a bottle of strawberry-scented conditioner and slathered his fingers quickly, then kissed Ichigo to distract him while his fingers got to work.

"Fuck!" Ichigo cried, his hips bucking as two of Grimmjow's fingers found purchase in his entrance, "oh shit…"

Grimmjow kissed him fervently, trying to distract him from the uncomfortable sensation as he slowly began to scissor and pump his fingers. He had to find it, that spot.

No, not there. Here? Almost. Damn, where was it…?

_"GRIMMJOW!"_ Ichigo screamed, his back arching, his eyes scrunched tight as Grimmjow had struck that bundle of nerves that made ukes mad with want, "God, now! I need you right fucking now!"

Grimmjow didn't need any more encouragement.

* * *

_He did it_, Ichigo thought, panting uncontrollably, _He killed me. He fucking killed me_.

Grimmjow thrust into him again from above, now ball's deep in Ichigo's ass as he screamed and mewled, unable to control his voice.

"God," Grimmjow hissed, rolling his hips, "fuck, Ichi, fuck…"

"Hnn-nah!" Ichigo replied, gripping at Grimmjow's shoulders, his fingers digging into his skin until he grunted.

Ichigo writhed against him, his hips beginning to thrust back against Grimmjow, his body now accepting the immense length within him. It was a piece of pain laced with pleasure so intense Ichigo didn't know whether he was on the floor or on the ceiling.

The water continued to cascade over them, the water no longer warm and beginning to turn icy. Although the water began to feel like ice, the fire between them had not dulled, and it looked like it was only getting stronger.

Grimmjow braced himself more effectively, now on his knees as he pulled Ichigo's hips, pumping into him from a new angle that had both of them groaning with pleasure. Ichigo was convinced he was a god. A FUCKING GOD.

He had fooled around plenty and had fucked once, but Ichigo knew from what he was experiencing right now that he regretted giving his virginity to some loser from another school. It had been clumsy, awkward, and had left him disappointed afterward, although the feeling had left him wanting to pursue sex again.

And right now, Ichigo knew he never wanted to have sex with anybody else again.

He kept telling himself to fuck Stark's words and lock them away in a box to be forgotten, but the nagging feeling kept pulling at him, even as he felt Grimmjow release inside him, making his toes curl at the strange sensation.

Grimmjow continued to pump slowly against him, one of his hands grabbing the base of Ichigo's cock and making him almost growl. It had been neglected all this time and was still so sensitive. Grimmjow pushed a single digit into the slit of the tip, making Ichigo scream as he convulsed, his muscles milking at Grimmjow's dick, even though he had already released. Grimmjow still moaned into Ichigo's neck, enjoying the sensation nonetheless.

They lay there, panting against each other, the fire between them finally stilled as the icy water deluged over them and cum began to run down the drain.

Grimmjow finally sat up on his haunches and stood up, staring down at Ichigo with post-orgasmic eyes, "Can you move?"

Ichigo smirked, lifting his legs up to rest on Grimmjow's thighs, giving Grimmjow a very sensual view, "You're pretty full of yourself."

Grimmjow cocked his head to the side, his hair slicked back against his skull, his grin gorgeous as he said, "I thought _you_ had been pretty full of _me_."

"Mm," Ichigo said, the ball of his foot falling over Grimmjow's spent cock and rubbing their lightly, "And I wish I still was."

"What happened to shy and evasive?" Grimmjow murmured, shuddering against the feel of Ichigo's foot against him. This little berry was going to be the death of him.

"I'm done pretending I don't want you," Ichigo said simply, dropping his foot and sitting up on his elbows before moving sideways to brace himself against the wall as he stood up. He winced, his ass incredibly sore, but he didn't regret it. All these weeks of imagining it, and his imagination had definitely let him down, "We're big boys, we can talk about what we want."

Grimmjow gave him a level look, his eyes crystal blue as he stepped forward and ran his hands down the crease of Ichigo's ass, making him shiver.

They stayed in comfortable silence as they helped clean each other, neither wanting to say anything. Whatever that fire had been, whatever was going on between them, had been smothered by Ichigo's words. Ichigo had thought it was exactly what needed to be said, what Grimmjow would want to hear. Grimmjow had said himself he wasn't a people person, that he wasn't good for people.

Ichigo couldn't imagine that being true. What had just happened was all kinds of right and good. So right and good, in fact, Ichigo was afraid it might even be illegal.

They stepped out of the shower, Ichigo grabbing towels and throwing his wet clothes in the sink to avoid huge puddles on the floor. He'd clean it up later.

Grimmjow followed him into the bedroom, Ichigo offering him a pair of sweatpants when Grimmjow declined.

"You're smaller than me," Grimmjow said, yawning and scratching his head, "Besides, I thought you were going to do my laundry."

"Well you can't just sit here naked all day," Ichigo complained, his cheeks flushing.

Grimmjow shrugged a shoulder, "Why not? Your friend's gone and you've drawn me naked a thousand times. Unless you don't want me naked in your bed."

The words made a hot ball of something form in the depth of Ichigo's stomach at the words. Kami, of course he wanted Grimmjow naked in his bed. Every day, in fact. And every night, but that wasn't exactly possible, considering Ichigo doubted Grimmjow thought of this relationship as anything other than being fuck buddies.

Ichigo had worked so hard to become friends with him, and all of it had been shot to shit in a moment of passion.

He had to salvage the situation, "No, that's fine. Do whatever you want."

Grimmjow cocked his head again, a gesture Ichigo was beginning to recognize as a habit of Grimmjow's. He moved over to get into the bed, lying under a thin blue sheet, a hand dragging through his hair again as Ichigo studied him.

God, he just didn't know how beautiful he was, did he? Every time he moved, even if he wasn't aware of it, was like an artist's dream. His fingers itched to draw, but he was tired and feeling lethargic after such vigorous sex.

"Are you coming or not?" Grimmjow called.

Ichigo stared at him a moment stupidly before deciding it was better than nothing. He crawled in beside Grimmjow, feeling like a foreigner in his own bed as their warm bodies lay next to each other, barely touching.

Had the magic been lost already? No, that couldn't be it. The fire was still there, smoldering, as they drifted off to sleep.


	5. Night

**Disclaimer: I do not own Bleach. I will, however, own Gin someday. Oh, and I think it's pretty obvious I'm a fan of Fast & The Furious at this point, although I tried to keep it original. -TPP**

* * *

**Tear It Up**

**Chapter 5: Night**

* * *

"Where you off to so early, Shuhei?" Stark asked, putting a toothpick in his mouth. He had been trying to quit smoking for the past few weeks, opting to suck on lollipops or chew on toothpicks to kick the habit.

It was almost eight p.m. and Grimmjow still hadn't come back that day. Of course Shuhei suspected what the others did: his little affair with the strawberry had probably begun.

But Ichigo didn't concern Shuhei. Not even Grimmjow concerned Shuhei. Ichimaru did.

"I'm tired," Shuhei replied, packing up his laptop and sliding it into his carrying case, "I've got classes tomorrow."

Stark nodded thoughtfully before picking up a tool, "Be safe, ne?"

"Hai, I will," Shuhei replied, walking as casually as he could out of the garage with his laptop bag slung over his side. Damn, sometimes he got the feeling Stark knew way too much. He was just too damn perceptive, and the last thing Shuhei needed was for anybody to pick up on where he was heading tonight.

Nnoitra and Stark had said they weren't going to the race in Los Noches, that Grimmjow had forbidden them to.

But Shuhei, for once, wasn't going to listen. He had some unfinished business with the fox face, and now that he was back in town, Shuhei was going to give him a piece of his mind.

A part of him was absolutely terrified as he climbed into his silver Mitsubishi Eclipse, the black leather interior newly detailed. He turned the key in the ignition, listening to his restored engine purr. Oh but this was his baby, the car that he loved as much as himself. He'd spent almost three years restoring her, cracking her open like a dead carcass and breathing life into her with his seemingly-endless knowledge about cars.

He had raced her before, and being the novice that he was, had absolutely fried the piston rings beyond recognition. Stark and the others had laughed at him and rustled his hair, telling him to stick to being an Einstein. So he had, but that didn't mean he didn't absolutely love this car. He knew every piece, every wire, every bolt.

He left the lot, turning on his superior sound system, the expensive speakers rocking the bass so clean and fresh it was almost maddening. He hated ignorant fucks who tried to boost their bass with shitty speakers, damaging the speakers and pissing off people that had to listen to the warped, dead sound. But this, this was all kinds of right as he cruised listening to the Indian underground hip-hop track.

It took him about thirty minutes to drive back to his apartment. After showering and changing into a comfortable outfit of black jeans, scuffed Converse and a black and white slim t-shirt boasting his favorite band SOUL REAPER, he opened his safe and pulled out a wad of cash he'd been saving and got back in his car.

The drive to Los Noches took a little over two hours, but he enjoyed the ride, the music making him calm. He needed to stay calm, needed to stay focused. He was scared shitless. Seeing Ichimaru tonight would either make him or break him.

At about midnight, he had made it to the infamous desert-like valley, the moon washing the barren landscape in cold light. A little over one hundred impressive cars of every make and model were parked off to the sides, scores of whores and other women walking around the cars in barely any clothes. He parked and got out of his car, intent to watch for the evening. Even he wasn't stupid enough to race tonight, although he wanted to. But if Gin Ichimaru was racing, he didn't have a chance. The guy was absolute gold on the mile race through the valley. It wasn't a straight-shot shoot like most races the crew came across. This one was a little more deadly, had a few turns that most resorted to drifting for, and Gin was practically lord of the drift. He had been born in Seretei, the most dangerous ghetto of Los Noches, but had spent a lot of time in Tokyo before moving back, giving him enough time to learn the drifting technique that was so infamous there.

That's how they had met. Gin was several years older than Shuhei, but they had grown up in the same piss-ass ghetto where every day was another day trying to survive on the street. Their friendship had been solidified when Gin had stepped in and beaten the shit out of a group of boys that had been cutting Shuhei's face after they had beaten him into submission. Shuhei's light scars on the side of his face tingled at the memory.

_The tall, light-skinned boy with silver hair turned back towards him, his crimson eyes revealed from their usually-slitted look. He looked down at Shuhei who was still sprawled on the ground, holding a hand to his cut face, both staring at each other as if they were aliens._

_"Ya alright, kid?" Ichimaru had asked, holding out a hand._

Shuhei had taken it and stood, realizing that this Ichimaru character he had seen on the streets and heard so much about was thinly built but muscled. He nearly towered over Shuhei as he stared at him with that calm smile, that smile that hid secrets.

_"Ya wanna live ta make it outta here, kid, ya'd better learn ta defend yerself," the older boy had said, turning from Shuhei and walking away._

Shuhei had been twelve, Gin sixteen. Since that day, they had somehow drawn closer to each other, closer than Shuhei would ever care to admit. He was nineteen now, going on twenty, a young prodigy at Karakura University and the only person he'd had on his mind for years now was this Ichimaru Gin.

And when Ichimaru had left without even a word two years ago, something inside Shuhei had snapped.

Now that he was back, Shuhei felt like gravity had ceased to control the universe and he was floating somewhere up in outer space. He had deep feelings for Ichimaru, even though he knew the fox-faced street racer was not the kind of person to have feelings. He was cold, calculating, and scary. People feared or admired him; girls flocked to his bed and left as suddenly as they had come. His crew were his comrades, but he was still untouchable, set apart from them. Above them, but still somehow below them, like he didn't belong to the world or to anybody in it.

And damn him, he had known how Shuhei felt before he left.

The accident with Quatro had broken something inside all of them, and it had been the first time in his entire life he'd seen any kind of emotion from the creepy street racer.

The day of his brother's death had been the only day of rage, of screaming. Before and after that day, it had always been the same mask-like smile, the hidden eyes of a slithering snake. A cold-blooded, heartless, Gin.

"Heyya, gorgeous," a hyena-like voice cooed, wrapping an arm around Shuhei's shoulder as he stiffened, "What'cha doin' in this neck of the woods? Ya come to race, ne?"

"Let go of me, Shirosaki," Shuhei warned, pushing his hand off.

"Where's your little posse?" he whispered, giggling, "The big bad wolves here 'ta protect 'ya ta'night, little goth riding hood?"

"Shut the fuck up," Shuhei hissed, not wanting to start a fight with all these people here but not able to control his already riled-up emotions, "I'm not here for you or your bullshit. I came to watch the race."

"You're not racin'?" Shiro looked shocked, then put a finger to his chin, "Huh, I suppose it makes sense, since ya suck at it an' all. Still figured Grimmjow would show, but I guess he's as big a pussy as the rest of ya."

Shuhei's fist connected with Shirosaki's jaw, the force throwing him back to the ground. Shuhei quickly straddled the albino, punching him ferociously as Shirosaki laughed maniacally.

"Kitten's got 'a little fight in him! I like it!" he crooned, blocking one of Shuhei's punches and pulling his arm sideways, making Shuhei grunt at the sudden pain. He rolled over, kicking Shirosaki firmly in the gut before standing up and jumping out of Shirosaki's range. He wasn't the best fighter on the planet, but he was a quick little fucker. Ichimaru had always told him the best offense was a good defense, and Shuhei had a lot of pent-up energy to get rid of tonight. Maybe a fight wasn't so bad after all.

"What are you doing, Shirosaki?"

Shuhei stiffened as he turned his eyes onto Tousen, the blind member of Ichimaru's crew. He had been a racer before an accident had stolen his eyesight. Now he acted as muscle, an intimidating man with incredible skill. He hurt people without even flinching, without any expression. It was unnerving.

"Haha," Shirosaki said, picking himself up off of the ground, a few people from around the cars staring and pointing at the display, "Little Shu-Shu was just sayin' hello."

Shuhei wanted to attack him again, but he held himself back. He was better than these scumbags, "Fuck off, Shirosaki."

"Ya know, if I wasn't about 'ta race, I'd beat ya until that pretty lil' mouth a'yers stopped moving permanently," he warned silkily, walking away with Tousen in tow.

Absolutely shaking with rage, Shiro lost himself in the crowd, trying to calm down as everybody made their way towards the starting point. Two men ran side to side from either end of the starting point, spraying lines on the ground for the starters. Cars began purring to life and peeling up to the line, eight racers total. Shuhei knew one of them was Ichimaru, but at the moment, he didn't care. He didn't fucking need to see what he already knew was going to happen. He went back and sat on the hood of his car, his hands in his pockets as he listened to the deafening screams of people cheering and the cars peeling out at the go signal. It would all be over soon.

* * *

After the race, which it was announced Ichimaru Gin had won, bonfires broke out all over the valley as cars started blasting their sound systems, creating a rave-like atmosphere. There was always a party after a big race, and this one was no different.

Shuhei pushed through scantily-clad bodies and made his way through the cars, hunting for the one person he needed to talk to right now. He spotted Shirosaki laughing with two girls clinging to his sides, whispering in his ears. If Shirosaki was close, that meant Ichimaru wasn't far. Tousen stood sentinel near the next set of cars, but Shuhei didn't flinch as moonlight spilled onto the one silhouette he had been waiting to see all day.

Damn, Shuhei thought. Nothing has changed.

And nothing had. Ichimaru was still as gorgeous as he had always been. He was tall and slender with a deathly grace about him that was unnerving. He always commanded the space around him, either pushing people away or pulling people to him like he was gravity. Currently, an extremely busty girl was at his side. He recognized her as a girl from school, Rangiku Matsumoto. She was a flirty girl with an hourglass figure and tits that would make a straight man's mind explode, but Shuhei just felt rage that Gin was even allowing the girl to stand that close to him. He was leaning back against the hood of his silver car, the black logos on the sides of the impressive machine intricate detailing of snakes eating each other. Gin's eternal smirk wasn't on his face. In fact, he looked a little bored with all the attention from the females that were currently flocking to him. His hands were in his dark jean pockets, his body relaxed as he ignored the attention.

Shuhei felt like ripping the sluts away from him and beating them into the ground for staring at him like that, like he was a piece of fucking meat.

He made his way closer, unable to stop his anger, "Ichimaru!"

Apparently, he hadn't heard him. He was still turned slightly away from him, the girl named Rangiku taking one of his hands and placing it on her incredible cleavage, whispering something to him that made him smirk. He dropped his hand from her, replacing it in his pocket as another girl touched his silver hair.

Oh _hell no._

**_"I_**_****__CHIMARU_**_!"_**

Finally, slitted eyes turned towards him, the expression blank. His eyes opened a little wider, revealing the scorching red orbs within. Shuhei sucked in a breath as he pushed forward, slapping one of the girls out of the way so he could stand closer to Ichimaru, "We need to talk. Right. Now."

Ichimaru blinked, his customary grin revealed, "Ah, it's been a long time, Shu-chan."

Shuhei wanted to smack him, but he didn't think it was a good idea with Tousen so close, not to mention Ichimaru could more than handle himself, "Cut the bullshit. What are you doing here?"

"Wha' am I doin' here?" Gin asked playfully, standing up straight and tall, still several inches taller than Shuhei as he looked at him, "I belong here, Shu-chan. It's you who don' belong here."

Shuhei knew his words were true. Los Noches might have been his home once upon a time, but it wasn't anymore. He'd gotten out of the ghetto with his mom when he had gotten a little older, had switched high schools where he had been fortunate to meet Grimm, Nnoi, and Stark. He had never been a good racer, had only been to Los Noches a few times since his move. Ichimaru Gin may have left for a while, but he always came back to his home turf.

But this was different. He'd been gone for _two years_ without saying _anything_.

"Ya look like ya got somethin' ya wanna say," Ichimaru continued, leaning in towards Shuhei, "Did 'ya miss me, Shu-chan?"

"Fuck you," Shuhei hissed, restraining his fists that were shaking at his sides, "You're garbage, Gin. Fucking _garbage_."

Gin's toothless, eyeless smile never faltered, "Ah, Shu-chan, now 'yer hurtin' mah feelings."

"You don't get it, do you?" Shuhei said, realizing that quite a crowd was beginning to gather around them, "What's your plan, Gin, huh? What's the point in coming back after all this time? What more can you possibly do to Grimmjow, or any of us? Don't come near us again, or I swear to God…"

"Don't swear 'ta him. He's worthless 'ta me," Gin said, cocking his head to the side, "but if 'ya got more threatenin' ta do, how 'bout we do it somewhere more private? Get in the car."

Shuhei's spine stiffened at the command-like tone in Gin's voice, his eyes still hidden by that constant masked mysterious smirk. Damn him. Damn him straight to hell.

Shuhei approached Gin's car and flung open the passenger side door and got in, absolutely fuming. Fine, he'd play Gin's little mind game, but at the end of the night, Shuhei knew that all of this would be over.

Gin was soon in the driver's seat, revving his engine to get people to move out of his way. He started speeding, having little regard for people that might have gotten hit. But that was Gin: he didn't care about anybody, not even himself.

They drove for a good thirty minutes until they had come to the overlooking cliffs of the valley, the crescent moon gleaming overhead as Gin turned off the ignition and stepped out of the car. Shuhei got out as well, staring down at the valley below them, at the little twinkling lights that were the party they had just left.

Then Shuhei realized Gin was standing not far from him at the cliff's edge, his hands in his pockets, his white hoodie unzipped and flapping behind him in the strong wind, his silver hair whipped as he began speaking, "Why ya here, Shu-chan?"

"What do you mean?" Shuhei said, his voice nearly dripping with acid, "Shirosaki rolls in on us this morning saying shit about the races tonight, how _you_ personally invited us. Grimmjow forbid us, but-"

"Exactly," Ichimaru said, turning his crimson eyes on Shuhei and nearly stealing his breath, "I knew he would, yet'cha came anyway. Why'd'ya do it, hm? Why'd'ya come all the way out here by yerself 'ta see lil' ol' me?"

Shuhei felt a lump grow in his throat, "Y-you know why! Why the hell did you leave? You just…you just fucking _left_, Gin! You just ran, and I know why, but…"

"Oh, ya do?" Ichimaru said, cocking his head to the side, his eyes never leaving Shuhei's face, "Well I'm glad the lil' genius figured it out, ne? Ya think I killed tha' bastard tha' killed ma' brother."

Shuhei stiffened at Ichimaru's cold voice. It had made sense, seeing as Ichimaru disappeared around the same time as Kariya's body being found, the man that had been responsible for the two car deaths. Even Grimmjow believed that was what had happened, but…could he even trust what Ichimaru was telling him?

"I didn' do it, altho' I had wanted to," Ichimaru turned his gaze up towards the moon, "Ya have no idea wha' I wanted ta' do ta' that man. Ya have no idea wha' I had planned for 'im, but somebody else got to 'im first. And naw, I know it wasn't yer blue-haired bastard leader, and it sure as hell wasn't none 'a yer pussy friends 'ya call a crew. It bothers me, the not-knowin'. I don' think 'ya understand me at all, Shu-chan, even after knowin' me this long. Yah, I left fer a while, but that's all it was. Leavin' for the sake 'a leavin'. Ya ain't got ta worry yer pretty lil' head about tha' details."

"You didn't say anything to me!" Shuhei bellowed, ready to tear his hair out, "You just _left_, Gin, you _left_ without a word to me, and you knew how I – how I…"

Gin's smile returned to his face, his eyes not going into their typical slits, "How ya felt, Shu-chan? Is that why yer mad at me? Ya think I left 'cuz a ya and yer feelings?"

Shuhei thought he might start dry-heaving. His heart was pounding in his chest, ready to break his rib cage as Ichimaru regarded him with that eerily calm expression, "I thought you left because you killed Kenpachi, but I hated you because...because you didn't say anything. Because…you knew exactly how I felt and….you left anyway."

Gin's eyes were unreadable as they traveled Shuhei's face. He took a few steps closer, his steps so light that Shuhei didn't even hear the dirt-like stone beneath his feet. Shuhei thought he would stop breathing as Gin put a hand under Shuhei's chin, tilting his face up to stare into those natural blood-colored eyes.

His expression was the most serious Shuhei had ever witnessed, "Ya can't fix me, Shuhei. Ya can't tear me apart, dissect me and put me back ta'gether like yer little car experiments. 'Ya can't study me in computer programs and change a few spare parts. 'Ya can't read me in a schematic and 'ya can't rely on a blueprint 'ta find a way 'ta my heart, 'cuz I don't got one, Shuhei. I ain't never had one, and I ain't ever gonna have one. I'm a snake, a selfish, cold-blooded, animal tha' likes 'ta swallow 'ma prey whole. I don' need nothin', because I ain't nothin'. And you, ya think ya can change tha', ya think if 'ya stand by with yer lil' feelings that someday I might respond, and I already told 'ya, on that day over two years ago, tha' the only thing yer ever gonna be offered from me is freedom."

"Freedom?"

Gin leaned in closer to him, whispering near his ear and making Shuhei shiver, "Ya want me, but 'ya don't know how 'ta give up yer heart. 'Ya don't know how ta lose yerself in what'cha got. You've always used that brain in tha' beautiful head a'yers; ya can't run on pure want. And I know what ya want, Shu-chan. I know what'cha crave, but'cha've always been too scared 'ta let yerself go."

Shuhei couldn't stop shivering now, Gin's words falling over his flesh like acidic honey. He knew this man was evil, was manipulative, was everything he claimed to be, and yet Shuhei wanted him, wanted him so bad his body was shaking and blood was pooling in his stomach and groin with the heat of lava. Kami, how long had he wanted this man before him?

_"I like you," Shuhei had said, his eyes cast on the ground._

_Gin had smirked, shutting down the real Gin once again and playing his part, "Tha's cute, Shu-chan. Real cute."_

_"I mean it," Shuhei had said more forcefully, wanting to beat the information into Ichimaru in hopes that he would begin to understand their sincerity, "I'm serious, Gin. I really like you, and you know it."_

_Gin's eyes had opened, revealing the red orbs that made Shuhei's body squirm with want, "Ya don't mean it. Don't say it to me again."_

_"But-"_

_Gin had pulled him into an embrace, his chin resting on the top of Shuhei's spiky black hair, "Ya don't mean it, 'cuz if ya did, I'd take ya, right here and now. And I'd break ya, Shuhei. I'd break that pure spirit a'yers faster than a child with a paper doll. I'd rip ya apart, then leave ya, and ya'd hate me for it fer the rest of yer life."_

"Ya remember what I said," Gin said, his lips but a hair's breadth away from Shuhei's, their eyes boring into each other, "And ya know I've never lied ta' ya, not even once, Shuhei. Yer young, naïve, vulnerable, innocent…all tha' things that make 'ya wantin' me wrong. I'm a snake, yer a baby mouse. Ya ain't got'a chance of survivin', and ya know it."

Shuhei shuddered again, trying to breathe as Gin's hands were on either side of his face now, holding his head in place, like he might be able to trap his mind there, "but ya bein' here has me thinkin' that my lil' mouse has grown into a stubborn mongoose. Ya gotta tell me what'cha want, Shuhei, 'cuz I can't read that genius brain a'yers anymore than 'ya can read mine. I can't promise 'ya anythin', can't give 'ya more than I got, but what I got, Shuhei, is prob'ly more than 'ya dreamed about."

"What I want," Shuhei murmured, his fingers now grasping at Ichimaru's elbows, digging into the skin there, "is for you to stop treating me like a little kid. I know I'm an idiot for liking you, but I can't help it. I've always liked you; I'm obsessed with you, Gin, and when you left me, I-"

"I missed ya too," Gin said, kissing Shuhei gently on the forehead and making Shuhei whine, "but I ain't gonna ruin 'ya without yer permission. Yer importan' ta me, prob'ly the most importan' person 'ta me left on this earth. When Tousen told me about Shirosaki teasin' ya, I could'a killed 'im. I don't want anybody touchin' ya, but I know if I touch 'ya, yer gonna regret it."

"You're not making any sense," Shuhei argued, his hands now less-tense on Gin's elbows, "One minute you're telling me how cold-blooded you are, and now you're worried about hurting me. Either you have feelings, or you don't. So which is it, Gin?"

Gin grinned, bumping foreheads with the smaller boy, "Ya got a smart mouth too. So that's it, huh? Ya wanna hear a confession, or do 'ya want me 'ta fuck 'ya so long and hard tha' I turn ya permanently stupid? Ya can't have both, I can't do that."

Shuhei shuddered for what seemed the hundredth time that night, Ichimaru's hands now snug on his jean-clad hips.

"Quickly now," Gin murmured, his tongue ghosting over the shell of Shuhei's ear, "Tell me, Shuhei. What do ya want?"

"You," Shuhei breathed, wrapping his arms around Ichimaru's neck, "All of you."

"Tha's not one of tha' options," Gin smirked, backing Shuhei up until his back was pressed solidly against the side of Gin's racer. Shuhei sucked in a breath as their bodies were pressed flush together, his arms still around Gin's neck, Gin's mouth laving at the pulse point in Shuhei's neck and making him moan.

"If yer with me," Ichimaru breathed, tugging on Shuhei's ear, "they're gonna hate you."

Images of Grimmjow, Nnoitra, and Starrk flashed in Shuhei's mind, but only for a moment. He didn't have to give them up, and they didn't have to give him up. He'd find a way to make it work. He had to, because he knew, deep in his heart, that was a decision he could never make for himself.

The war had never been between Ichimaru and Grimmjow; the war had always been against Kariya. Even though Shuhei was not naïve enough to think that Ichimaru didn't hold some kind of resentment towards Grimmjow for Quatro's actions. There was more to this story than met the eye, but Shuhei was far too distracted at the moment by Ichimaru's tongue as it delved into Shuhei's mouth, making all thought processes disappear completely.

All he wanted was this; all he needed in that moment was this man, and damn everything else.

Shuhei returned the kiss, his body on fire as he arched his back, brushing their erections together. Gin stiffened slightly at the contact, but didn't stop kissing, didn't stop touching.

"So that's it, then?" Gin said, pulling back to stare at Shuhei's lusted-over eyes, "you'll sell your soul for a dance with tha' devil?"

Shuhei bunched his fingers in the front of Gin's shirt, his voice even, "I never sold it, I gave it. You already took it, Gin, you just don't want to admit it."

Gin chuckled, pulling away from Shuhei completely before gently pushing Shuhei over so that he could open the passenger door of the car.

Shuhei understood without words: if he got in that car, there was only one thing and one thing only that was going to happen.

He'd be taken back to Gin's place, and he'd be fucked until he screamed like a needy whore, and he'd love every minute of it, because that's what he had always wanted, had always needed from the man. He knew there wouldn't be cuddles, soft words, or endearments. He knew all those things were a mirage when it came to Ichimaru Gin, and yet…

Shuhei's body slid into the customized leather seat, the door clicking softly closed behind him.


	6. Torn

**Disclaimer: I do not own Bleach, but I do own the overdramatic, idiotic angst. I guess. -TPP**

* * *

**Tear It Up**_**  
**_

**Chapter 6: Torn**

* * *

Grimmjow rolled over in the warm bed, his arms locking around another pillow as he buried himself in the comfortableness. His body was trying to wake him up, but his brain wanted him to sink back into blissful peace for a while longer.

After another ten minutes of trying to force his body back to rest, he gave up and opened his eyes, wondering why the room was so quiet.

He remembered where he was now. Ichigo's unique and colorful dorm room was neat on his side and messy on the other. He hadn't noticed all the art supplies before piled in the corner, or the bolts of bright-colored and patterned fabric next to a dressing dummy. Must be the fairy's stuff.

The door opened and closed, revealing Ichigo in some loose sweat pants and a light gray jacket carrying a plastic laundry basket. His hair looked darker, as if it was wet from a shower.

"Hey," Grimmjow rumbled, his voice sounding dark from sleep. He rubbed his eyes as he shifted in the bed again, the sheets pooling in his lap as he sat up.

Ichigo smiled at him before dropping the laundry basket on the organized and clean side of the room on a low table the roommates must have used as a makeshift kitchen table, "It's almost five, but I didn't know if I should wake you or not. You still look exhausted."

Grimmjow ran his hands through his hair and over his face one more time, his eyes slightly stinging. He couldn't believe how tired he still felt, his muscles stiff, "What'cha doin'?"

"I had a load to run anyway," Ichigo shrugged, pulling Grimmjow's clothes from the basket and shaking the wrinkles out of the shirt before tossing it to Grimmjow along with his jeans and boxers.

Grimmjow slid off the bed, exposing himself. After he slipped on his boxers and had his jeans on but unbuttoned, he noticed how red Ichigo's face was as he meticulously folded some of his own clothes.

"Ichi," Grimmjow said, making Ichigo look at him as if startled, "Wanna go get something to eat? I'm starving."

"That would be…nice," Ichigo finally admitted, hands in his hoodie pockets, his face still flushed.

Grimmjow finished getting dressed as Ichigo announced he needed to brush his hair and teeth, Grimmjow trying to figure out a way to take away the awkwardness that had built up between them. Shit, his first real relationship and he was already making things uncomfortable.

In all fairness, Grimmjow had no idea what he was doing. All he knew was that he wanted to sleep with the berry again, that he wanted to protect him. Grimmjow hadn't been lying when he had told Ichigo he was awkward with people, that he wasn't a people person. He didn't do small talk, and he sure as hell didn't like talking about his past.

And he knew Ichigo knew that, and yet the kid still wanted to give him a shot. How strange.

"Where do you want to eat?" Ichigo said conversationally, reentering the main part of the dorm room having changed into a pair of bleached jeans, "There's an amazing sushi bar not far from campus."

"I love sushi," Grimmjow admitted.

"Perfect," Ichigo said, offering a half-smile, "Uh, do you want to call your crew?"

"Why?" Grimmjow said with a crooked eyebrow.

Ichigo shrugged again, "Maybe they wanna go?"

"You don't wanna be alone with me?"

"I do."

"Ichi," Grimmjow said, sighing while rubbing the bridge of his nose, "If you're regretting what happened, I can leave."

Ichigo's face fell, like he'd been punched. Shit. There Grimmjow went, being blunt in his fear.

"I don't regret it," Ichigo mumbled, his fingers tugging on the front of his hoodie absently, "I just…don't want you thinking you have to impress me. I…get it, you know? That you want me for my body. It's okay if you think of me that way. I don't care."

Grimmjow could see how he was struggling with the words, his body language screaming uncertainty. Grimmjow might not have been the smoothest talker, but body language he did understand.

Grimmjow wasn't good with words, had never been. He was rough, usually uncaring of other people's feelings, but the way the berry was struggling to sound like an adult, it made Grimmjow cave, "I've never thought of you like that. I've wanted to sleep with you for a while now, and I want to do it again, but Ichi, I'm not going to treat you like a fuck buddy. You deserve better than that."

Ichigo's eyes widened, his face betraying surprise. He could read the kid like a book.

"So we're good?" Grimmjow said, feeling like the awkwardness would crush them both if they weren't.

Ichigo nodded, smiling. Grimmjow's stomach flip-flopped while Ichigo gushed about how amazing the sushi would be.

* * *

"You're kidding!" Shinji squealed, jumping up and down next to his half-dressed model, a length of measuring tape wrapped around his neck like a tie as he kept screaming into his phone, "Omigod, Ichi, that's such good news!"

"Calm down!" Ichigo ordered through the phone, his voice sounding embarrassed, "It's not that big of a deal."

Shinji stopped jumping, calking his hip as he set his face in a stern look that usually scared the other people in the design department. His model blinked repeatedly at him a few times before shifting awkwardly in her ten-inch aqua and black wedges.

"You're lucky I've got a fitting to accomplish right now or I'd be running my perfect ass over to you right now to interrogate," Shinji said conversationally, running a hand through his chin-length blonde hair, "When I get back tonight, you better be waiting for me."

"Whatever," Ichigo said with a laugh, "Just wanted 'ta say…well, you know, thanks for…for believing in me."

"No, what you really mean to say is '_oh how the gods have blessed me with a fashion-savvy best friend that isn't interested in cock-blocking'_," Shinji sighed dramatically, "but this interrogation is far from over, soldier. Now get your ass back to the battlefield."

"You're so stupid."

"Sweet cheeks, I think you should be careful with the insults, considering I helped play cupid. My mojo works both ways, y'know? Better hope I don't jinx your new fling," Shinji chuckled, just to make sure Ichigo didn't take it seriously, "But really, I'm busy, and my model is staring at me like an anorexic deer in the headlights. Ciao, darling."

He flipped his bright green phone shut and returned it to the pocket of his skin-tight red leather pants, assessing the dark-skinned model he had requested with a critical artist's eye, his arms now folded across his chest, "When I'm through with you, you'll look ravishing. I need to finish stitching the gold razorback and the corset needs work, but I have all night to work on that," Shinji gesticulated with one of his hands out, a finger twirling in the air, "Spin for daddy."

The model obliged, although she stumbled a bit in the tall shoes. Shinji rolled his eyes, "Sweetie, I walked in those shoes for days while planning this collection. If I can pull it off, you sure as hell better be able to."

"Yes Shinji-san," she replied, straightening herself and trying to look as professional as possible. Shinji couldn't help the obsessive compulsive behavior towards the clothing he designed (any kind of clothing, for that matter) and the student show was tomorrow. The top students of the design department were featuring a six-piece collection. The audience would be filled with school board members, teachers, fashion agency representatives, and students alike.

And he would be damned if he didn't get a contract before that stuck-up snooty little bitch Ishida.

Tomorrow was his moment of glory, and he wasn't going to disappoint a crowd. Shinji always had been a good people person and although many found him to be extravagant and flamboyant, they couldn't deny his artistic style and taste in the fashion industry. At twenty years old he had already been featured in several articles and earned a spread in the local fashion magazine. Several female students had already begun purchasing his clothes. The ones who could afford it, at least.

Tomorrow he might impress the right person, catch the right eye.

Shinji worked quickly with the remainder of the fitting, placing pins where needed and editing what he found disinteresting. Finally he let the model change back into her street clothes.

"Look pretty tomorrow. Don't eat."

The model nodded with a giant smile and left the large workroom, making Shinji shake his head. Apparently models didn't understand sarcasm.

Several hours later, he was still working away in the workroom, the sewing machine humming quietly as he breathed life into the top he had been designing. He looked up to see who had joined him in the workroom and immediately rolled his eyes before concentrating on his work again.

Ishida moved farther into the room, bypassing Shinji's station with a hurried hunch of the shoulders and his messenger bag flapping, papers and bolts of cloth in his hands.

Shinji stopped the sewing machine, watching the dramatic display. He had never seen Ishida so disorganized. Scratch that: Ishida was _never_ disorganized.

Ishida had his brows drawn together, his glasses helter-skelter on top of his head, his hair the same sleek black but not in his usual plain boring style. It was messy, as if he had just woken from a nap to hurry to work. He wasn't even wearing a tie, for gods' sakes. Shinji had never seen him look so…normal.

_And hot._

"What's up, Ishida?" Shinji called, actually feeling a little concerned for his arch nemesis, "You alright?"

"No, I'm not," Ishida said dangerously, dropping his messenger bag on his work table before throwing his sketch book down with an audible slap, "I…I'm so far behind. One of my dresses is missing. I don't know how it happened, I don't know who took it, but when I find out, I'm going to eviscerate them and feed their intestines to vultures! And another one of my designs, the chiffon cocktail dress, my model somehow managed to rip the sleeve and my showstopper finale dress has a fucked up hem and I…and I don't know what to do! I have less than fourteen hours to produce something to replace the dress I lost and fix the mistakes on the other ones."

Shinji's eyebrows rose up to his hairline. He had never heard Ishida yell before.

And he had never seen Ishida on the brink of tears.

Shinji stood up and approached Ishida's workstation, knowing full well how the pressure to perform well and knowing a deadline was about to be thrown in your face felt.

He hated Ishida's guts, but at the moment, he was actually acting human, not like his snotty robotic self that Shinji was so used to seeing. Ishida never showed true emotion other than annoyance or satisfaction. Shinji thought he would start crying himself when he saw tears begin to trickle down Uryu's cheeks.

"Let me help," Shinji said, shocking both of them.

Ishida glared at him for a moment through his tears, "Why? Why would you help me? You hate me."

Shinji cringed, "I don't _hate_ you. Okay, well, sometimes, but that's just because you're always saying snooty things and acting like a total know-it-all ass wipe."

Uryu sniffed, wiping at one of his eyes, "I can't _help_ it, Shinji! I have to, don't I? This is a dog-eat-dog world, and fashion's a competitive department in the college. One day you're in, the next day you're out. I've never buckled under pressure like this before, I've…I feel so…not myself, and my father…damn him, he's no help at all, only telling me that I deserve to fail if I'm too weak to make it in the fashion industry on my own! I…I feel so…unraveled."

"To be completely honest, I prefer this version."

"Fuck you, Hirako," Ishida growled, which made the hairs on the back of Shinji's neck stand on end. He had never, _ever_ heard Ishida cuss at someone like that. His speech was usually impeccable, polite even when he was hurting someone's feelings or using his biting sarcasm.

He didn't know if he was pissed off or turned on.

"I meant…you freaking out. It's natural to buckle under pressure. You shouldn't have to act like a robot all the time. Fashion's art, too: you express yourself, your feelings. It's good to be competitive, to want to be the best, but if your art suffers for it, then it makes you suffer too, doesn't it?"

Ishida swiped at his eyes again before sliding the glasses off of his head and tossing them on the worktable, rubbing his temples. Shinji seriously wanted to hug him or something he looked so vulnerable. He dropped his hands, staring at a wall blankly before cocking his head towards Shinji, his dark blue eyes focused, "You'll really help me?"

"If we get started right now, I think we can pull it off," Shinji said, pulling up a naked model dummy, "Something clean, simple. I've seen your drape work: it's flawless. If you pick a clean color palette and do your draping effect with just a touch of the lace you have worked into the rest of your collection, it will look cohesive."

Shinji turned towards Uryu to demonstrate with a bolt of fabric when he realized Uryu was standing next to him. The next thing he knew, Uryu's hands were on either side of his face, pulling him in.

Shinji's entire body stiffened and froze as Uryu's lips moved against his own, too shocked to respond. The kiss was over in an instant, Uryu's eyes dark and serious, "When this is all over, we have some serious talking to do, but right now, I'm too strung out and stressed to think about confessing my true feelings for you, so please ignore what I have just demonstrated until after the fashion show. Please."

Shinji stood gaping like a fish as Uryu released him and turned back to his worktable, pulling free his supplies from a bag and readying thread.

Shinji finally closed his mouth, his heart beating out of his chest.

_What…the…fuck?_

* * *

Grimmjow sat next to Ichigo in the movie theater, wishing he were more invested in the action flick. After grabbing sushi, they had taken a walk in the downtown area and passed a theater covered in posters and Ichigo had almost lost his mind when he had seen a poster sporting the new Don Kanonji flick that had just been released.

Ichigo had chatted on and on about how good it was supposed to be, so Grimmjow had offered to let them go see it. Ichigo had immediately shut up, his face flushing such a brilliant red that Grimmjow had laughed.

Now here they were, almost two hours later, Grimmjow trying to focus while Ichigo sat next to him, laughing at some parts and nearly crying at others. It was an action film for Kami's sake, but that didn't mean they didn't throw in romance and a heart-wrenching death scene here and there.

Grimmjow's arm grazed Ichigo's again, both of them resting their arms on the arm rests of the small theater. People were seated in front of them and behind them, surrounding them. It made Grimmjow feel nervous. He didn't like having people to his back; he'd been raised to never have his back to anyone.

_That's how even the most careful people get stabbed_.

His palms sweated, his head began to pound. He didn't like it, especially when the guns started blazing on screen. The repetitive gun shot noises made him visibly cringe once or twice. He squeezed his eyes shut, clenched his fists, tried to control his rapid heart rate.

He felt a cool hand on his arm.

He turned slightly to stare into concerned brown eyes, "You okay?"

"Yah," Grimm replied, his voice low.

The movie continued. The next scene showed Kanonji dashing into a stolen vehicle, gunning it to its full speed as he was chased down by the typical bad guy cronies. He weaved through the streets with ease even as he was shot at.

Grimmjow's eyes flickered over the screen, his heart picking up speed again at the sounds of the engine and the screeching tires.

And then he thought he was going to throw up. One of the enemy's cars tried to sideswipe Kanonji. Guns blazed, the wheels turned, and the enemy's car flipped several times down the side of a mountain before bursting into flames.

Flames. Fire everywhere.

Grimmjow's throat tightened, his body shaking as he stood up and left the theater. Ichigo stared after him, turning his face back to the screen several more times before comprehending what was wrong.

"Fuck," Ichigo murmured, practically running after Grimmjow who had already exited the showing room.

He saw Grimmjow disappear into the bathroom. By the time Ichigo opened the swinging door, Grimmjow was putting his face down towards the faucet, throwing water on his face.

"I'm sorry," Ichigo said immediately, watching Grimmjow throw more water on his face, "I'm so so sorry, Grimmjow."

Ichigo practically jumped when Grimmjow slammed his hands down on either side of the sink, holding the edges so tightly that his knuckles were turning white.

"Say something," Ichigo said, approaching him, "If I had had any idea…"

"It's not your fault," Grimmjow said, straightening himself and running his hands through his hair.

"Are you okay?" Ichigo said, feeling absolutely retarded. Of course he wasn't.

Grimmjow turned back towards the door, barely glancing at Ichigo, "I'll wait outside."

"Let's just leave. I don't want to finish the movie anyway."

Grimmjow gave him a steady look, "Don't fuckin' feel sorry for me."

"I'm not," Ichigo said lamely, "the movie's kinda boring anyway. Kanonji's lost his touch. He's not nearly as funny as he used to be. Not even his laugh."

Now he was rambling. He always rambled when he was afraid. Fuck.

"Then let's go."

* * *

Ichigo sat quietly the entire bus ride back to the dorms. Ichigo didn't own a car and Grimmjow had said it would be easiest to take public transportation since it was convenient to the university campus, but Ichigo suspected it was more than that.

He didn't want anyone in Quatro's car but himself.

It hurt Ichigo to think of it that way, but that was probably how Grimmjow really felt about it. At the bus stop they got off and began the short walk to the dorms, Grimmjow always slightly ahead of him on the pathway. Ichigo knew he was still extremely upset over what he had seen, but another part of Ichigo was feeling selfish. The accident had happened six years ago, and just seeing a car on fire was enough to get such a reaction out of the delinquent? He was hard as stone! Grimmjow screamed bad ass with a hard core that no one could break. He was an unshakeable mountain, calm and collected, level-headed, unless he was pissed off.

Ichigo felt his pocket vibrate and nearly jumped he was so lost in his head. He fished his phone out of his pocket and read the text message from Shinji, surprised that he wouldn't be coming back to the dorms. Apparently he had some issues with his collection and needed to stay the night at the design workroom. Ichigo knew it was serious, seeing as Shinji's priorities were fashion then gossip.

Grimmjow stopped in front of the dorm hall, hands in his pockets as he stared at Ichigo.

Ichigo swallowed, "Wanna come up for a while? You look like you need a beer."

Grimmjow looked like he was going to say no, but then he surprised Ichigo and nodded his head once.

Grimmjow sat stiffly on the edge of Ichigo's bed as he went to the tiny hot pink fridge that Shinji had bought and took out two cans of beer, popping them before joining Grimmjow on his bed. They sipped in companionable silence for a while before Ichigo made up his mind and set his beer down and turned to Grimmjow and started kissing him.

Grimmjow's body stiffened at the sudden contact but Ichigo was persistent, not taking no for an answer. Grimmjow's free hand wove into Ichigo's hair and tugged harshly, tilting Ichigo's neck back so that Grimmjow had better access to his throat. Ichigo sucked in a breath as Grimmjow began to aggressively suck and bite at his throat, pushing Ichigo back against the bed. He dropped his beer on the floor, uncaring of the mess as he smothered Ichigo.

Ichigo was beginning to wonder if he had made the right choice in comforting Grimmjow. Was this really comfort? Would this really help with the pain he was feeling? Ichigo wasn't sure.

But Grimmjow never stopped. Hands and teeth were everywhere, tongues on fire as they panted against each other, bodies beginning to mold and cocks beginning to harden.

"G-Grimm-jow," Ichigo finally managed between pants. Grimmjow was currently biting his chest, having tugged his shirt off seconds ago, "Grimm."

"Don't," Grimmjow growled, making Ichigo's eyes widen as he clutched his chin with an iron hand. His blue eyes blazed with what Ichigo thought was anger, "Just shut up."

"Do you need this?" Ichigo asked seriously, gripping Grimmjow's wrist to the hand that was forcing his chin, "Is this what you need right now?"

Grimmjow let go of Ichigo's chin and moved off of him, sitting on the edge of the bed, "I knew I couldn't do this."

"What?"

"This," Grimmjow said, standing up from the bed and running a hand through his hair, "I don't know what the fuck possessed me. I'm not into pity sex."

"Is that what you honestly think?" Ichigo said, his anger beginning to surface as he stood up from the bed, "What the fuck, Grimmjow?"

Grimmjow didn't say anything at first, just looked at Ichigo with those eyes and body language that Ichigo immediately didn't like.

Grimmjow had cut himself off again, even after he'd promised Ichigo to try.

"You're a fucking quitter," Ichigo said, crossing his arms over his chest, "I gave you an opportunity this morning, but no, you didn't want mindless sex with no strings attached because you said I deserved better! If anybody should be feeling like they're being pitied, it should be me!"

"I don't pity you. Fuck, Ichi, you're the only person I've ever genuinely wanted before."

"So you _do_ feel something," Ichigo snorted, "For somebody who likes to pretend they have no emotions, you sure are acting like a teenage bitch."

"Don't fuck with me."

"That's _exactly _what I want to do," Ichigo shot back, his eyes watering even as he scowled. He swiped at his face before tugging on his hair, "I care about you Grimmjow, but you have GOT to express yourself once in a while! I can't fucking read minds and when you get all mopey and distant it pisses me the fuck off! That's how relationships work, Grimmjow: you have to meet me halfway. I thought a relationship with you would be impossible, that I could live with a one-night stand, and then you make me happy by saying you wanted more than that! So make up your mind, Grimm: which is it?"

"I warned you," Grimmjow practically hissed.

"You know what," Ichigo said, a humorless smile forming on his face, "just forget it. I don't expect anything from you, Grimmjow, and you sure as hell shouldn't expect anything from me."

Grimmjow grabbed his hand, refusing to let the berry walk away from him, "I don't get what you _want_, Ichigo. I don't know how 'ta act. This is _me_, that's all I know; it's all I've ever been. And you, you're confusing the hell out of me with your bipolar emotions."

Ichigo pulled his hand away forcefully, his eyes drilling into Grimmjow, "Oh, now I'm bipolar? Jesus, coming from the delinquent with a brother complex. What, now you're going to tell me your sob story about how life hasn't treated you fair? About how it's all little Grimmjow's fault his brother burned to death? What? You got any daddy issues too, Grimmjow?"

Ichigo's head spun at the force of the blow, stumbling back several feet before regaining some of his composure. Grimmjow's punch had sent him barreling against the closed door, his body leaning against the wood for support.

Grimmjow's fist loosened as his body tensed. Ichigo felt like he was looking at a startled wild animal. His jaw felt like it was on fire: it had been a spectacular punch. And for whatever reason, Ichigo was amused. He let a chuckle slip as he finally looked at Grimmjow fully, wiping his mouth with a hand. Yeah, that was definitely blood, "You're such a coward it makes me SICK. I don't even want to LOOK at you."

Ichigo madly giggled as Grimmjow snapped, slamming his fist into the door right next to Ichigo's head. Ichigo threw his head back against the wood and laughed harder as Grimmjow yelled in rage.

"You're _pathetic_," Ichigo continued as Grimmjow shoved him into the wall, his vision swimming as Grimmjow smacked him. It sounded like thunder in Ichigo's ringing ears, "You're so sad. Poor baby Grimmjow, all alone in the big, bad world."

"Shut up!" Grimmjow growled, grabbing the berry and pushing him onto the floor, falling over him and holding his shoulders forcefully, "Shut the fuck up, Ichigo, shut up!"

Ichigo wanted to cry, to start sobbing, but instead, the anger and hurt was replaced with hysterics, "You think you're the only person in the world that's ever _lost_ somebody! You think you're the only person that's ever _suffered_. You're a self-righteous, self-obsessed bastard. Nothing but a scared…little…_boy_."

Ichigo stopped laughing when Grimmjow slammed his shoulders against the floor repeatedly, his large hands now gripping Ichigo's neck. Ichigo started flailing his legs as Grimmjow breathed fire, his blue eyes almost unseeing.

When Ichigo started choking, the vice grip stopped, Grimmjow's hands shaking as he straddled the berry's hips, looking down at Ichigo like he had just killed a baby bird.

Tears were now spilling down Ichigo's cheeks, his chest huffing for air as he began sobbing, "Come on! That's what you want, right? Just fuck up the people that challenge you; it's what you've always done, right? Just shut them up before they can tell you who you really are!"

Grimmjow didn't say anything as his hands now moved gently against Ichigo's neck, carefully tracing the red marks forming there. His eyes were watery, but no tears spilled over as he stared at Ichigo's sobbing face with a mixture of regret and wonder, "Ichi…God, I'm…"

"_Don't_," Ichigo said, his hands now pushing against Grimmjow's chest, "Don't you fucking say it! You're not sorry, you're not sorry at all. But it's okay, because I'll forgive you anyway, because I'm a fucking idiot that can't leave you alone no matter how hard I try."

Grimmjow had expected a lot of things but the last on his list would have been for the berry to kiss him. It was aggressive, all teeth and tongue. Grimmjow knew he was bleeding, but the moment was so bizarre he didn't know how to react. He pulled Ichigo to him, tugging on his hair as Ichigo's nails raked on either side of his neck. The pain startled him, but his own mind was so fucked up all he could think about was his pain, rage, and libido.

Ichigo shoved against his chest, pushing him back until his head hit the floor hard enough to white his vision for several seconds. Ichigo kissed him again while simultaneously tugging on his belt.

Grimmjow was completely against pity sex, but angry sex…Kami, there were no words.

Clothes were ripped from bodies, teeth bit and sucked and licked. Grimmjow had never allowed one of his partners to bite him, and now his body was absolutely riddled with bruising red welts.

And then Ichigo was on top of him, and then he raised himself, and then the world went white as Ichigo took out all of his frustrations by ramming himself onto Grimmjow's rigid cock, both of them yelling. Ichigo grit his teeth, breathing heavily as he began to move. Grimmjow's eyes were rolling in the back of his skull, the dry tightness unlike anything he had ever felt before.

* * *

Ichigo was in agony, hot tears spilling down his heated skin as he continued to fuck himself with Grimmjow's cock. Grimmjow was beginning to buck against him, pushing himself up, his hands clasping Ichigo's hips tight. They would bruise, and bruise well.

The pain began to ebb, either from Grimmjow's precum or the fact that Ichigo's entire body felt like a live wire. He had never been this angry, this upset. This is what he wanted from Grimmjow, nothing else, just mindless, incredible sex whenever they wanted.

His heart beat faster than a humming bird's, and he knew he was lying to himself. He wanted more. So, so much more, but the blue-haired bastard was damaged goods, and Ichigo wouldn't fight for him if he wasn't willing to fight for himself.

_Quitter_, Ichigo thought. _A goddamned quitter._

Ichigo stiffened when he felt his prostate gland get stimulated. He began to move more quickly now, desperate for that deep, hot stimulation.

_No thinking_. No thinking no thinking.

"Fuck!" Grimmjow growled, thrusting the best he could from his position, "Ichigo."

Ichigo couldn't hear the rest of the expletives because he was moaning as he breathed, one of his hands moving to jerk himself off as he felt his orgasm approaching. He screamed as he came, tremors running down his spine as he tightened around Grimmjow.

Grimmjow whined, feeling his own release as Ichigo fell forward slightly, warm cum sliding out of his abused entrance along with a small amount of blood. It burned, but Ichigo said nothing as he rolled off of Grimmjow and attempted to stand. When he was successful, his legs shaking, he looked down at Grimmjow with hardened eyes, "Did that feel like pity sex?"

Grimmjow said nothing as he breathed, his body covering in goose bumps as the cool air of the room flowed against his sticky cock and sweating body, "Fuck."

"I'm taking a shower," Ichigo announced, leaving Grimmjow alone on the floor. Grimmjow listened to the shower turn on a few minutes later, staring up at the dark ceiling with no coherent thought other than that Ichigo was absolutely, positively fucking right.

Grimmjow didn't know how long he laid there, but he finally sat up and wiped himself off with a towel before putting on his jeans. Ichigo emerged from the bathroom just as he had buckled himself, wearing loose-fitting pajama pants. Grimmjow ran his eyes over Ichigo's face and neck, grimacing when he saw the angry red welts forming where his hands had been.

Grimmjow lost his breath as Ichigo punched him in the gut and standing back, waiting for a reaction.

"I deserved that," Grimmjow finally managed, rubbing at the throbbing spot. Shit. That would definitely bruise.

"You did. That was for strangling me," Ichigo said before slapping Grimmjow across the face as hard as he could manage. His hand still hurt from the punch he had given, but the sound of the slap was more satisfying than the punch had been, "And that's for embarrassing me."

"Embarrassing you?" Grimmjow said, still holding his cheek in agitation, "What the fuck are you talking about?"

"These walls are paper thin," Ichigo elaborated, "Everybody on my floor now knows I'm gay."

"Congratulations."

"Fucker."

"Yeah."


	7. Steady

**Disclaimer: I do not own Bleach. The smell is nice, though.****-TPP**

* * *

**Tear It Up**

**Chapter 7: Steady**

* * *

Shuhei yawned, rubbing at his eyes. He'd been up most of the night, driven home early in the morning and barely had time for a shower before getting to class. He'd passed out about halfway through a lecture on mechanics, his sensei forcing him to stay after class. Zaraki was one of the scariest teachers on the campus, but he was secretly as laid back as Starrk. He'd told Shuhei not to bother coming to class if he was going to sleep through it, and Shuhei had been embarrassed and swore he'd never fall asleep in class again.

Easier said then done.

Now back at the garage, his belly now full of burrito from the cafeteria and nearly an hour into the new 3-D program he had installed on his laptop for visuals on the latest car project, he was ready to pass out again.

"What you been up to, Einstein?"

Shuhei nearly fell out of his swivel chair at Starrk's question, tensing before relaxing. Shuhei hadn't even realized Starrk was coming into the garage today. He was currently in a clean-ish grey jumpsuit left unbuttoned, exposing a tan chest, an oil rag hanging out of his back pocket, a steaming cup of coffee in his hand.

"Can I have a sip of that?" Shuhei pleaded, rubbing his eyes again. All he wanted was to be done with his project for class tomorrow so that he could go back to the apartment and pass out.

"Sure," Starrk said, taking a stool next to Shuhei and sliding the cup, "after you answer my question."

Shuhei made a move to grab the cup, but Starrk kept it just out of his reach before sliding it around on top of the table again, keeping his attention.

"I was out all night. Didn't get back 'till early," Shuhei said truthfully, sighing in relief as his fingers finally fell on the large Styrofoam cup. He took a long sip of the caramel latte (double shot espresso added for the infamously lazy Starrk Coyote) and averted his eyes as Starrk studied him.

"I don't need to tell you to be careful with him, do I, Einstein?" Starrk said seriously, eyes locked on Shuhei's reddening face.

"Shut up," Shuhei said petulantly, "It's none of your guys' business who I see or don't see."

"Gin isn't just anybody," Starrk said, taking his coffee back, "you know that better then anyone. I don't like him and I don't like who he associates with. Besides, what's to stop him from leaving again?"

Shuhei swallowed the lump in his throat: he didn't want to think about it. He knew there was a possibility. After all, why would someone like Gin stick around? There was nothing for him here, not since his brother's death. He could go anywhere, had the money and the backing for just about anything, but Shuhei wouldn't stop thanking his lucky stars that the mysterious man was back. He was grateful, and if he had to keep it a secret from everybody to keep them out of his business, then so be it.

"Don't say anything to the guys," Shuhei said quietly, closing the lid on his laptop, "You're like my big brother; you read me too easily."

Starrk looked at Shuhei skeptically, "You expect me to keep my mouth shut? I don't like this situation at all."

"I'm not a little kid anymore. I know it's stupid, but…I can't stay away from him," Shuhei began packing his laptop away in his carrying bag, sighing heavily, "Please, Starrk? For me?"

"You know I won't, but sooner or later, that fox is going to stick his nose where it doesn't belong and you're going to have a lot to answer for," Starrk said seriously, his grey blue eyes not letting Shuhei slide.

"I know."

* * *

Grimmjow huffed, shifting in the black fold out chair, completely out of his element. Kami only knew why he was sitting here in the first place, watching a bunch of losers walk on a raised platform down the center of the room, twirling in clothes he'd never ever wear.

Then he remembered that Ichigo was sitting next to him and then he felt a little bit better. Ichigo had practically begged him to attend the university's fashion show for the arts department. Grimmjow had grumbled and groaned for over an hour before Ichigo decided to play dirty and got him to agree post-orgasm. He was always more agreeable after sex.

It was a curse.

So far three collections had been shown, and Grimmjow hadn't liked any of them. Two women's wear and a men's formal wear. The men's wear had scared Grimmjow nearly shitless: what man in their right mind, gay or straight, would ever wear a pea green glittery cocktail coat with a neon orange bowtie? These people had sick minds.

Another collection was shown by a refined-looking kid named Ishida who was dressed in a white suit with a black tie. _That's the first thing I've seen today that I'd actually buy_, Grimmjow thought silently to himself. The kid's collection wasn't too bad, mostly Lolita-looking stuff that Grimmjow could imagine teenage girls clamoring for. There were two evening looks that were more refined, looking pretty sexy, which surprised him. Grimmjow, looking at the designer, would never think the kid capable of pulling off glamour.

Before each collection was walked out on the propped up and curtained makeshift stage, the designer would stand on stage and offer a few words about their inspiration, their dedication, etcetera with a microphone. Grimmjow knew that this show was a big deal to the students, as several members of the audience were practically paparazzi, taking a lot of pictures for the local magazines and fashion websites sponsored by the college. Ichigo had pointed out a few of the high society-looking people in the room who looked like they breathed fashion day in and day out. Grimmjow didn't really understand all of it, but he could appreciate the hard work of the artists, even if most of it was below or beyond his taste level.

At least he wasn't suffering alone. Ichigo sat to his immediate right, Starrk on his immediate left. Starrk attended as many of the shows as possible, considering Halibel was one of the most popular student models.

Shinji had exclusive use of her today, including some other very Amazonian looking girls that were all legs and bodacious beauty. Apparently it was all part of his 'theme'.

Grimmjow grinned: speaking of the fruit cake, there he was now, mounting the side steps to the stage, a grin plastered to his face as he bowed to the crowd who clapped upon his approach.

"Hello and good afternoon," Shinji began, looking spiffy in fitted black slacks, a black collared shirt, and a silver blazer with a shiny white tie, "This collection was inspired by one of my secret guilty pleasures: science fiction dramas. I'm all about the aliens."

The room tinkled with laughter and a few claps before Shinji continued, "but not little creepy green Martians. Oh no, fashion-savvy and sexy Amazonians from Planet Fabulous. I'd like to dedicate this to my best friend in the entire world, Kurosaki Ichigo."

Shinji smiled winningly at Ichigo who sat far down the catwalk in the front row, having fought tooth-and-nail to get such good seats. Everybody clapped politely, Ichigo's face red even though he smiled back at Shinji. Shinji hadn't warned him about the dedication, and it made Ichigo's chest swell with pride.

Shinji laughed, "I hope you all enjoy my collection."

There was more clapping as the lights dimmed again, the music selection starting up immediately.

Ichigo recognized it immediately, singing along in his head as the first model stalked out from behind stage, dressed in ripped black tights and a flowing sheer top in a dessert rose color, a hand-braided gold belt polishing the look, the girl's makeup extremely shiny and although a bit strange, it was still beautiful. Her hair was frizzed out like an afro but wilder:

_'You're. So. Hypnotizing._

_Could you be the devil? Could you be an angel?_

_Your touch, magnetizing, feels like I am floating…_

_They say be afraid, you're not like the others,_

_Futuristic lover…_

_Different DNA, they don't understand you_

_You're from a whole other world, a different dimension,_

_You open my eyes, I'm ready to go lead me into the light…'_

As it slammed into the chorus, the second ensemble emerged, making the crowd clap and the cameras flash so brightly and quickly Ichigo thought he might have a stroke. The turquoise wedges were so high Ichigo didn't know how the girl managed to stomp in them. Her gold jumper was short, the model's hands in the oversized pockets, the black corset looking intricate and complimentary. This model's hair was also frizzed out, the make-up shiny with turquoise eye shadow and bright turquoise lips that definitely made her look more alien with her copper skin.

_'Kiss me, k-k-kiss me,_

_infect me with your love and_

_fill me with your poison…_

_Take me, t-t-take me,_

_Wanna be a victim, ready for abduction._

_Boy, you're an alien,_

_Your touch so foreign,_

_It's supernatural,_

_Extraterrestrial…'_

The next two looks were intricate cocktail dresses in extremely bright colors that screamed Shinji, followed up by a cute day wear look that had most of the girls in the audience hyperventilating (not to mention Shinji's taste in shoes was beyond criminal).

The final look, the showstopper, was just that. Ichigo's eyes nearly bugged out of his head when Halibel emerged in the form-fitting evening gown, a dress worthy of the red carpet. The paleness of the material made Halibel's skin glow, her ample cleavage and amazing shoulders being done justice in the simple yet beautiful number. It shimmered and sparkled, and Ichigo for the life of him couldn't figure out if Shinji had somehow stitched it into the material or if he had just gotten lucky in finding the different fabrics. Her hair was piled high on top of her head, silver wire and stars keeping it all in place, her silver makeup making her green eyes vibrant and her lips full. She walked strong, the dress slit in the side, exposing most of her perfect legs as she twirled at the end, giving some of the photographers time to set up a decent shot. The sheer material of the shawl made it look like she was barely holding it, as if it were a wisp of cloud that had come down with her from the high atmosphere. She was more angel then alien.

_'It's supernatural,_

_Extraterrestrial…_

_Extraterrestrial…_

_Extraterrestrial…_

_Boy you're an alien, your touch so foreign,_

_It's supernatural,_

_Extraterrestrial.'_

Halibel disappeared behind stage at the completion of the song, the lights flooding back on as the audience applauded and cheered. Shinji reemerged on stage with a grin to take his final bow, the show not yet over, but the way people were reacting to what they had seen on stage, Ichigo didn't see what the point in continuing was.

He sure as hell wouldn't want to go after a collection like that.

* * *

Shinji had always been an attention whore, but about half an hour after the fashion show's completion, all he wanted to do was go back to his room and take a long, hot shower before passing out in bed with a cup of steaming chamomile tea and a decent yaoi manga.

Another man was shaking his hand, and Shinji was beginning to worry that his arm would fall off. The man was smiling and nodding, telling him how promising his talent was before handing him a business card. Shinji tucked it away in his pocket along with the others, an eternal smile plastered to his face. His cheeks hurt.

The reception was nice; cheap cake and punch for all, but Shinji didn't care about that. Ichigo gripped him in a spine-shattering hug as soon as he got a chance to pull him away from a reporter and a photographer, the dean of the university looking slightly put out before wandering off to congratulate another student designer before he looked like a fool.

"Amazing, man. I'm so proud of you," Ichigo congratulated, hugging him again as Shinji giggled.

Ah hell, it had been worth staying up all night in the workroom with Ishida. Not only had he managed to help Ishida save his collection, Shinji had managed to finish his own. Everything had worked out. For the most part.

Memories of the impromptu kiss from Uryu suddenly assaulted Shinji's memory and a blush consumed his face before Ichigo looked at him with a crooked brow, "You okay, Shin?"

"Yeah, of course," Shinji said playfully before allowing his eyes to fall on the blue-haired man that looked completely out of his element standing next to Ichigo, "What's up, Big Blue? Like the show?"

Grimmjow shrugged, earning him a slap on the arm from his…well, whatever Ichigo was to him. Was it safe to call them boyfriends now? Or were they still undercover lovers? Shinji pouted his lips as he realized he hadn't had a chance to interrogate Ichigo over the whole ordeal yet. Ichigo must have realized this with Shinji's expression because his face was soon burning so bright his freckles were made more noticeable.

Ichigo said something to Grimmjow and Grimmjow replied with something sarcastic but Shinji's attention had already started to drift, his eyes falling on a tall, slender man in an incredibly tailored white suit, his black hair as shiny as ever. He was talking to the dean of the university and Shinji gulped.

Uryu looked amazing today, even Shinji couldn't deny that. He'd taken his trademark glasses off, replacing them with contacts for the day. Shinji couldn't help but admire how Uryu carried himself, a careless arrogance that Shinji admired. Back straight, head held high, elegant hands…what the hell was Shinji thinking about?

"Shin? You still here, Shin?" Ichigo's voice barely registered before Shinji shook his head and let out an exasperated huff.

"I'm so tired. I haven't slept yet," Shinji whined, grabbing a glass of punch from a student who had volunteered to walk around with trays. He downed it in record timing, hoping the sugar would keep him awake long enough to get back to the dorm, "I'll see you guys around."

Shinji started to walk off, but not before pointing a finger at Grimmjow, "Hurt him and I will make you wish you had never been born. I mean it. I might not be able to take you on physically, but trust me when I tell you all the therapy in the world won't be able to cure you from the mental pain and scarring I will inflict if you make him cry."

"Sh-Shinji!" Ichigo stuttered, his ears bright red as Grimmjow smirked.

"But he's cute when he cries," Grimmjow retorted, earning him another punch in the arm from a distressed strawberry.

Shinji threw back his head and laughed, "You know, I have to agree."

* * *

Shinji sighed upon turning off the blessed hot water of the shower, stepping out and toweling off rather quickly in his eagerness to have some well-deserved rest. His entire body felt heavy and wary, his eyes trying to keep focus, a headache already developing. He was so tired he feared he wouldn't have time for that tea and manga after all.

Donning a pair of baby pink silk pajama pants and a skin tight white wife beater (of course he'd never be caught dead in public wearing such a thing) he finally made it into the main room, collapsing into his bright color splattered sheets, not even bothering to towel his wet hair.

Before he could get his body completely comfortable in his swarm of pillows and sheets, he heard a tentative knock at the door.

"Christ on a fucking _bike_," Shinji growled, pulling himself up from bed, rubbing his face with a slender hand and through his drying blonde locks. He put his hand on the knob of the door, thinking internally that something catastrophic (such as _Jersey Shore _or _Project Runway_ being cancelled) better have happened or he was going to rip whoever it was interrupting his beauty rest a new ass hole.

His complaints died in his throat when he was staring at a still formally dressed Uryu. His sapphire eyes were focused on Shinji's buttery gold ones, making Shinji suddenly huff in irritation. It wasn't fair that the bastard looked so good and here he was, looking like a model for an American trailer park. He'd even slipped on his fuzzy panda slippers before padding across the dorm room to answer the door. Now he looked officially ridiculous.

"I saw you slip away. I got out of there as quickly as possible, um…" Uryu looked down at his feet, and it was then that Shinji realized he was holding a small bouquet. It wasn't even really a bouquet. Could three sunflowers be considered a bouquet?

"I didn't get a chance to say anything at the reception," Uryu continued, his cheeks tainting a slight pink color. That was the most color Shinji had ever seen on the kid's face, and now that Shinji could see his deep blue eyes without those stupid glasses being in the way, Shinji wondered why he had never found his fellow designer attractive.

Oh yeah. He'd been hiding behind that snot-nosed brat personality. But now, from the overnight work haul, Shinji knew better, that the kid was actually far more sensitive then anybody gave him credit for. Not only was he sensitive, he also had a backbone, telling Shinji how he would not allow his father to dictate his fate. It was all very shoujo manga in Shinji's opinion, but hell, he'd always liked shoujo.

"What's that for?" Shinji said, pointing a tired finger at the bouquet.

"For, for you," Uryu said, holding it out with both hands, his face in flames. He was a few inches taller then Shinji, but Shinji felt like a giant in that moment the kid looked so freaking scared, "Please go out with me!"

Shinji fought not to laugh outright as Uryu bent practically in half in a formal bow, the bouquet a few inches away from Shinji's bellybutton.

_Huh? _

"Ah, I'm too fucking tired for this shit," Shinji mumbled, rubbing his hands over his sore eyes.

Uryu finally straightened himself, his face still quite red. Shinji had never, ever been asked out in such a manner. Not that he'd ever had a real relationship, considering men used and abused him just as much as he used and abused them.

_But something's different. It's so ridiculous, but...so cute. _

Shinji thought Uryu was going to cry. He looked like a puppy that had been left out in the rain, and it threw Shinji off pretty badly. It was so weird seeing this other side of Uryu that Shinji couldn't help but feel a twinge of something for the raven-haired designer.

_Sweet baby Kami in heaven, was this...attraction?_

"Don't cry," Shinji said, taking a step forward and kissing Uryu on the cheek. Before Uryu could react, Shinji snatched the bouquet from Uryu's now-limp fingers, his mouth hanging open in disbelief.

Shinji winked at him, "You're cute when you're stupid."

Before Uryu could articulate his feelings or get his brain to function properly, Shinji slammed the door in his face.

"You can't be serious," Uryu mumbled under his breath before raising his voice, "Is that a yes or a no, Hirako?"

Uryu couldn't help but let a small smile slip as he heard Shinji's giggle through the door, "I'm putting these flowers in water. You have until they wither away and die to make me fall in love with you."

"W-what?" Uryu slammed himself up against Shinji's dorm door, ear pressed to the wood, his breathing erratic, "What are you talking about?"

"I'm giving you a chance, dummy. With fresh water and some tender loving care, these sunflowers should last…what? _A week?"_

"That's impossible!"

"Nothing's impossible if you're determined," Shinji said with a yawn, "I'm going to bed now. As I recall, a certain _someone_ had me up till all hours of the morning. It's your fault I look like a hot mess."

"You're always hot," Uryu said quietly to himself, still pressed up against the door as if listening for government secrets, "and all the garbage in the world couldn't make you look like a mess."

Uryu must have said it too loudly because he heard Shinji laugh quietly, followed by some rustling that could only be sheets. Uryu's ears were fire engine red, "Nighty-night, Ishida. Love boot camp starts in the morning, ne?"

Uryu collapsed in front of Shinji's door, finally opting to rest his back against the door, his legs pulled up, arms on his knees, head bent forward as he contemplated the strange new shift in his life.

Hell, Shinji's proposition seemed impossible. He'd almost prefer to have been shot down completely then given such false hope. The blonde was always such a tease, but Uryu was not one to give up easily. Hell no, he hadn't applied to Karakura University and become one of the top designers without having a resolve of steel.

A roaring monster deep in his gut told him he would do whatever it took to succeed. He hadn't planned on confessing in such a way, but after everything that had happened in the workroom and the fashion show going so well, he'd gotten the courage to purchase a few measly flowers from a card shop not far from campus, and seeing how adorably Shinji had looked at him all ruffled up in his pajamas, his hair unkempt, his eyes wide, Uryu couldn't deny his cuteness anymore and had reverted into a pathetic shoujo impersonator.

No, worse then shoujo. He didn't even have a word for how bizarre his confession had been.

"I won't fail, Shinji," Uryu whispered, knowing he was right about wanting the spirited and headstrong blonde in his life.

Little did Uryu know that he was already earning points. Shinji shifted in his bed, rolling over away from the vase that held his favorite flowers and falling into a deep restful sleep.

* * *

"You're joking," Ichigo said the next morning, his toast nearly gone as Shinji munched on a banana nut muffin.

"I joke not," Shinji said through a mouthful of muffin, his legs crisscrossed as he sat atop his bed, Ichigo at his side, leaning against the wall covered in posters and fashion spreads clipped from magazines, "He really said that. I thought it was some sick joke until he actually showed up here with those."

Shinji nodded towards one of many large plastic cups Ichigo used for spare paint that currently housed three fairly large sunflowers.

Ichigo smiled at Shinji, "How'd he know to get you sunflowers?"

"I don't know. He's got a lucky star or something," Shinji mumbled through another bite of muffin, "It's just so…what the hell, Ichi? He's never shown anything but contempt for me. Always bursting in here, demanding quiet, calling me names and thinking I'm too stupid to understand all his big dictionary words. It pisses me off."

"You're getting pretty riled up about it," Ichigo said, lifting a brow, "I'd say that classifies as 'caring'."

"Don't get ahead of yourself. It's…dammit, Ichigo, if I hadn't been in that workroom last night, none of this would be happening right now. I never would have…would have seen his other side. He's…" Shinji trailed off, staring at the remainder of his muffin as if he wanted to torture it.

"…sweet," Ichigo finished for him, his smile so huge Shinji wanted nothing more then to deck him in the face.

"Shut up, he is not. That confession…what, are we back in preliminary school? He might as well have handed me a white card covered in hearts."

"You know you love it," Ichigo laughed, "And nobody has ever given you flowers before, ne?"

"Shut up."

"Shinji, please go out with me!" Ichigo said dramatically, falling over Shinji's lap in a dramatic Shakespearean way, "Let these flowers show my undying love, my precious golden-haired god!"

"Damn straight," Shinji said with a smirk and a chuckle, "He sure as hell doesn't deserve somebody as fabulous as me."

Ichigo laughed again, smacking his friend playfully on the knee before sitting up and getting off of the bed, rummaging around on his cleaner side of the room before finding the notebook he was looking for, "I have class in twenty. Wanna meet up for lunch later?"

Shinji sighed, "Can't."

Ichigo raised a brow, "Why not?"

Shinji's face lit up in a light blush, "Uryu's taking me…on a picnic."

Ichigo snorted before bursting into uncontrollable laughter. Shinji grabbed the nearest thing, which happened to be an impressive black stiletto from yesterday's collection and flung it at his best friend's torso.

It hit Ichigo in the belly button area, but Ichigo didn't stop laughing.

Shinji finally laughed with him, "Ass hole."

* * *

**Yeah, this fic has officially moved from "Drama/Romance" to "Drama/Humor/Romance/Crack/WTFisTPPthinking."**

**...I'm a huge fan of Project Runway. It's the only way I know what I'm talking about when it comes to fashion. Shinji is modeled after the fabulous Christian Siriano, actually (season 4 winner, the youngest ever to win at 21 years old. Impressive, and he's extremely hilarious. Since this fic is already a few years old, I remember him being the inspiration.)**


	8. Warm

**Disclaimer: I don't own Bleach. I don't sniff it either. -TPP**

* * *

**Tear It Up**

**Chapter Eight: Warm**

* * *

Gin sighed against Shuhei's mouth, willing his excitement away. He didn't have time for another round of hanky-panky, but the goth's body was pressed against him in all the right places, one of his hands currently trying to worm its way into Gin's thin dark blue boxer briefs.

Gin had too much to accomplish this morning to allow Shuhei to have his way with him, even if Gin's body was screaming for the goth to continue his current form of affection, "Shu, I ain't got time 'fer this."

"Mm, liar," Shuhei murmured, biting Gin's ear lobe at the same time as his fingers decided to hold Gin's growing cock in a death grip with one hand.

Gin's hips bucked instinctually, a growl forming in the back of his throat. This was only the second time they had spent the night together, the second time Gin had allowed himself to fuck the younger genius, and with each passing day, he was beginning to regret the decision more and more.

Because once Gin had had a taste, he couldn't think of anything else. Gin had never been desperate enough to try heroin, but he imagined the effect was quite the same.

Not only did Gin have to deal with his body's sudden change in demands, he also had to deal with Shuhei, who wasn't quite grasping what Gin had been telling him for years. Shuhei was older now, maybe more confident in his sexuality, and maybe he was planning on using it as his weapon against Gin's incredible shielded defenses.

But Gin knew that this sexual aggression on Shuhei's part was mostly show, that Shuhei craved something that Gin couldn't give him, and that was affection.

Even now, the way Shuhei was pressing himself against Gin was like him screaming to be touched, to be caressed softly, to be shown that he was wanted and needed.

But…

Gin had never loved anyone. It wasn't that he had never been given the opportunity, it was just something that had never been of interest to him. Companionship, sure, that had definitely crossed his mind more than once. Friendship, mhm, most people desired that as well.

But unconditional love? Affection? Trust? They were foreign concepts, completely alien to Gin and the world he had grown up in. His brother had been his closest friend, his closest companion, but even that relationship had had bountiful setbacks on both sides.

He hated to think of himself as the typical sob story _I-was-never-loved-by-mommy-and-abandoned-by-daddy_ faux pas that many people in the world fell back on in therapy, but there was a lot of truth in that. Maybe if his dad had been around, maybe if his mother had ever touched him gently, lovingly, he would understand the concept of caressing hair and hugging. Maybe, just maybe, in another dimension, in another universe, Gin could have been a swell guy that got along with most people and didn't cause problems for the ones who promised to love and cherish him forever.

Of course those words had never left Shuhei's mouth, but Gin suspected the kid had far more than a crush invested in the older con artist. Gin's entire existence had been founded on deceit, on lies.

Maybe that was the reason he was actually intimidated by Shuhei's honest innocence. Gin didn't understand how a certain glance or a whispered word from the younger spikey-haired lover drew him to insanity almost instantly.

He had told Shuhei he hadn't run because of his confession, but Gin was beginning to wonder if that had actually been the real cause. Gin had always been good at running. Hell, he'd even left Japan on several occasions to avoid disasters with mobs when he'd scammed someone a little too high up the totem pole.

The Underworld could hide you, but it could never protect you. Those who chose to live their lives in the underworld of crime and deceit, doing business with demons, shouldn't expect not to be crucified in the long run. Gin was just surprised he had lasted this long.

Shuhei was currently inching his way down Gin's toned chest, his tongue swirling around Gin's hairless navel, an innocent attempt at seduction. Shuhei had confessed only last night during their second meet-up to finding pleasure in a fellow student in high school, a boy with silver hair similar to Gin's, a complexion similar to Gin's.

Gin wouldn't admit that he had been much too rough. Gin had always had a mechanical approach towards sex. It had always been scientific; animals carried it out instinctually, and so had Gin.

Until this boy. Until Shuhei had made Gin feel what could only be called jealousy. Maybe even rage.

Because the boy was his. Would always be his, even as he fought to push the boy away from him.

And now, he had royally fucked himself. He had foolishly thought fucking him a few times would get the boy out of his head and out of his life for good, but Gin felt anything but empty and cold when he was with Shuhei.

Fuck, he was just a walking cliché, wasn't he?

"What's so funny?" Shuhei asked, stopping his current ministrations to stare at Gin's grinning face.

Gin sat up slightly, annoyed with himself and his emotions. Truthfully he had never had to deal with them before, the one exception being his brother's sudden fiery death. Careful, concise, calculated: everything had seemed to be thrown out the window that day and Gin had tirelessly built the walls back up. He would be damned if anybody ever broke him like that again.

He wouldn't allow it. It was impossible for him to _feel anything_.

And he was going to prove it, even if it meant Shuhei walking out of his life forever.

Gin's smile was not deceitful, simply genuine, "I want you to fuck me. Now."

* * *

Gin gasped, bolting upright in his Western style king sized bed, the white silk sheets pooling around him, his body covered in a thin sheen of sweat. He ran both of his thin hands through thick silver strands, his heart already calming astronomically.

Shuhei lay by his side, unconscious and snoring softly on his stomach, his long, lean tattooed back exposed down to the perfect line that announced the parting of his ass cheeks. Even waking from a nightmare, Gin could appreciate the view.

Gin huffed quietly, slinking out of bed silent as a snake, making his way to the penthouse's balcony, picking up a silver cigarette case from his bedside table along the way.

He opened it quietly, sliding out onto the balcony and taking a seat in a black iron chair as he enjoyed the crisp evening. It was beginning to chill as the weather turned sour this time of year, but Gin had always loved the cold weather. Shirosaki joked that since Gin was so snake-like he should love warm weather, but it was not to be. Gin preferred the cool of the evening, a breeze. He hated sunlight, the heat. Reminded him of cleanliness, of purity. He was neither of those things, and never would be.

He opened the cigarette case and removed his favorite brand of Turkish cigarettes, the taste smooth, spicy, and worthy of cancer.

There was something soothing about smoking naked, Gin mused to himself as he stared up at the giant moon that stood guard over the world, more specifically at this moment his current living pad in Hueco Mundo. It astounded him that Shuhei was willing to make the long drive as many nights a week as he did and still maintain his grades at the university. Gin had never pursued college, but he knew that this little affair of theirs was beginning to take its toll on the young engineering genius.

Gin had finished his fourth cigarette when he heard the sliding glass door behind him, soft barefoot steps across the concrete flooring, the scraping of a twin iron chair as a, well, _partially_ clothed Shuhei took a seat next to him.

Gin observed his younger lover from his peripheral, lighting up his fifth. He hoped that delicious blush stained across Shuhei's neck and face was from his shyness at Gin's current state of undress. It didn't bother Gin in the slightest that he sat on his own patio naked in the dead of night, smoking his lungs into a coma. It didn't bother him at all: it was actually becoming quite ritualistic, but Shuhei was still adjusting to how…strange…Gin was, even if they had known each other for years.

Gin suspected it was more Shuhei's young-and-helpless-nearly-virgin-never-had-an-affair-before-puppy syndrome than anything else, "Nice night, ne?"

Shuhei snorted, running a hand over his face as one knee bounced frantically. Apparently modesty was important to him, as he was currently wearing black boxer briefs, "It's four -o'fucking-clock in the morning. What are you doing out here?"

Avoiding having to construct a lie to dodge having to answer Shuhei's question, Gin simply stared at the crotch of those said-briefs for several moments, "I don't remember those being on you five minutes ago."

Gin chuckled as Shuhei turned an even deeper shade of red, "Sh-shut up."

"Nah. Why don't'cha make me?" Gin taunted. It was so interesting, so refreshing, to have a lover that was so easy to rile up. Shuhei was very expressive, whether he was conscious of it or not, and Gin loved it.

_Loved it? Nah, that's not correct_, Gin thought to himself silently.

Would he make a move? What an interesting game. Gin was enjoying watching the boy grow, watch him experience. They'd slept together a dozen times by this point, but the boy was still unsure of how far he could push his dominance.

So far, Gin had dominated him in every sense of the word, but the past two nights had been more…mellow, if that were the right term for it. Gin wanted to see what Shuhei would do if given the reigns, and so far, the kid was too chicken.

So Gin was treating the current situation like a game.

After all, everything in Gin's life was about lies, secrets, and games.

"I can't make you do anything," Shuhei finally consented quietly, not looking at Gin as he continued, "I can't make you want me. I can't make you feel what I feel, but that's not the point."

"Then what is?" Gin said a bit saucily, beginning to feel a very rare emotion that he was sure was called irritation.

Shuhei looked at him finally, a bit too much heat in those coal-colored eyes, "I know this is a game to you, but could you at least, at least _pretend_ to want me as much as I want you?"

"Ya just said it yerself," Gin said, breathing smoke out through his nostrils as he cocked his head towards Shuhei, "It ain't about wantin'. It ain't about pretendin', neither. It's about feelin' fer you, ne? That's what this is about. I told you before any'a this started what'cha'd get from me, and now-"

"That's not an answer, Ichimaru!" Shuhei said vehemently, rising out of his chair to tower over Gin. Gin didn't even flinch at the sudden proximity, his cigarette currently burning down to the filter as he was pretty much forced to crane his neck up to stare at the angry mechanic, "You feel for me, I know you do! How you touch me, I know it…it's not in my head, I know it!"

Gin flicked his now useless cigarette away from him, not breaking eye contact, "Tell me."

That apparently hadn't been what Shuhei was expecting for an answer. His shoulders deflated slightly, his breathing hitched, "What?"

"Tell me what you want 'ta hear," Gin said seriously, moving his hands to Shuhei's hips, drawing him in closer between his naked thighs, "Tell me what will make 'ya feel better, what will make 'ya justify whatever we have goin' on between us in 'yer mind. What will make 'ya feel better? What will make 'yer heart hurt less? 'Ya gotta tell me what'cha want 'ta hear, Shuhei, 'cuz I don't know what 'ta feel."

Gin could feel how tense Shuhei was, visibly shaking slightly from the effort to either not cry or to get violent, Gin wasn't sure. His face was unreadable, his lips parted slightly as if he might start screaming or start sobbing.

The fear in his eyes…the uncertainty in those desperate eyes almost made Gin…

No, they made him uncomfortable. He didn't like it. He didn't like Shuhei's eyes like that. He wanted them brilliant, wanted them to be free of clouds and of worry, but Gin didn't know how to give him that, and it was frustrating.

Gin leaned forward, laying kisses across Shuhei's sculpted abdomen, another on the black snake tattoo at the line of his boxer briefs Shuhei had confessed to getting done over a year ago in remembrance of him, "Let me make it better. Tell me how ta' make it better."

_Mine. He's mine_. The thought should have startled Gin, but it didn't. Shuhei was his, completely. Even though Gin was the naked one, he knew Shuhei felt far more vulnerable in this moment then any kind of nakedness.

Shuhei touched Gin's face tentatively, lifting his head up for a sweet, innocent kiss on the lips before he stepped out of Gin's wandering embrace, "I want you to need me, Gin. I _need_ you to need me…and I was stupid for ever thinking you could."

Shuhei reached the sliding door and opened it, staring ahead into the darkness of Gin's abode, not facing Gin as he said quietly, "Just…lose my number. I can't do this anymore."

Gin's fingers twitched, his back stiffening.

That…had hurt. A lot. This feeling…

No, none of that. He was fucked up, all kinds of fucked up, but not _that_, not…_fear_.

It was as foreign to him as the concept of love. He had learned at a young age that he was quite incapable of real fear; he could provoke it in others, but had never, if rarely, ever experienced it himself. There hadn't even been fear when his brother was burning to death, only anguish, only pain.

But this, this was most definitely fear. Fear of losing, losing something important, and Gin felt suddenly like he couldn't breathe.

And then everything was silent, and he was left alone, now conscious of his true nakedness.

* * *

Starrk growled as he became conscious to the sounds of banging on his front door. Bleary-eyed, he looked to the alarm clock at his bedside, silently wishing death on whoever was making a racket at 6 o'clock in the God forsaken morning.

"Starrk?" Halibel whispered softly, a petit hand running along his back as if waiting for confirmation that he wasn't about to kill whoever was behind that door.

"Stay here," he said gruffly, getting to his feet faster then most had ever seen the lazy sleepy man move. It was only a short walk down a hallway in the congested apartment to the front door, Starrk's eyes narrowing as he unlocked the deadbolt and prepared to pound whoever it was into the afterlife.

"What the f-" Starrk started but stopped as soon as he recognized the disheveled figure of his 'little brother' standing on the stoop, staring at Starrk with glazed eyes.

Concern for his friend made all violent thoughts disappear as he waited for Shuhei to say something, to acknowledge that Starrk had, indeed, opened the door.

"Shu, what's wrong?" Starrk finally asked, taking a step out into the cool night. He was clad only in long pajama pants, but he didn't care. Shuhei looked rough, and Starrk mentally began preparing himself for what Shuhei would have to say.

Starrk had always been extremely intuitive, and from the tears in Shuhei's eyes, he knew the only direction this was going.

"Sorry to wake you," Shuhei said quietly, practically grinning at Starrk as he wiped fresh tears from his eyes, "but can you please hit me?"

Starrk leaned in the door frame, sighing deeply, "Kid…"

"I need you to hit me. Really hard."

"Why?" Starrk asked, fighting a yawn. Maybe the kid was experimenting with drugs again. Wouldn't be the first time, although Starrk had been pretty pissed the last time he'd managed to find his way to Starrk's apartment, tripping so hard on E that he'd had to tell Halibel to stay at one of her girl friend's apartments for the night so that he could put the kid in front of the television and let him wank off to porn for nearly four hours straight.

But violence had never been attributed to Shuhei. At least, as far back as Starrk knew him. He knew the scars on his face had been from a rough fight in a ghetto when he was a kid, but the kid hadn't been much of a fighter since coming into his life.

"Because I didn't listen. You were right. As always," Shuhei said with a sad smile, "Just do it, k? Maybe it'll make me wake up –"

"Get in here," Starrk mumbled, grabbing the kid by the front of his shirt and dragging him into the apartment before locking the door again. He turned to Shuhei and stared at Shuhei slouched against the wall, his head downcast, waiting for the water works to start, but so far, Shuhei was stopping himself from turning into a sobbing mess.

"Starrk? Is everything…" Halibel appeared in the doorway of the bedroom, looking at her fiancé and instantly knowing this was a tough situation, "Honey, is he alright? Does he need to lie down?"

"It's alright. He just needs to talk. Go back to bed," Starrk said instantly in his 'not right now I'll explain later' tone. Halibel, the angel that she was, left it at that and didn't pry. She quietly closed the bedroom door behind her as Starrk led Shuhei into the small but comfy living room. They sat next to each other on the sofa, Starrk waiting patiently for Shuhei to elaborate, but he wouldn't say anything.

"Saying 'I told you so' isn't going to make it better," Starrk finally said, running a large hand through Shuhei's thick black spikes, "One day at a time, yeah?"

Starrk had never been one to mince words. He hoped he didn't come off as callous, but it was the best he could do, the best he knew how. Kami help him the day he became a father because he was too lazy to give careful, accurate advice.

But he was truthful, and honest, and he cared, he fucking cared, and that's what made Shuhei break and start sobbing like a baby.

Starrk was angry. He had predicted such an outcome from Shuhei's attachment to Ichimaru. Whether Shuhei liked it or not, he was like a baby brother, a little cub. Starrk could admit he was a lazy, sleep-obsessed bastard, but he was also fiercely loyal and could be dangerous on his own terms.

He didn't let anybody fuck with his wolf pack, his cubs, at least not without retaining some brutal bites.

Starrk was not an Alpha wolf to be fucked with.


	9. Fever

**I think you can tell what mood I'm in by the content of each chapter of this story. Seriously, it's getting pathetic how bipolar I am. -TPP**

* * *

**Tear It Up**

**Chapter 9: Fever**

* * *

Shinji had to admit that this was probably the most peaceful, lazy, content day he'd ever experienced since entering college. Uryu had promised him a picnic, and a picnic he did receive. He had been dependent on Ichigo for his cooking skills nearly his entire life: Shinji was extremely talented when it came to fashion and design, but even his eccentric self-centered self knew he couldn't make toast without burning it. Uryu's picnic ended up being more like a feast: an endless variety of sushi, vegetables, fruits, and homemade strawberry crepes for dessert (he didn't know how Uryu pulled all of this off without having a dorm kitchen, but he was still impressed.)

And the location! Just a short walk from campus and it felt like a private woodland wonderland. Bright flowers and even a fucking gurgling stream. Shinji was still waiting for Bambi and the other woodland creatures to attack the cliché tranquility.

And Uryu. Shinji had blamed the drooling on the food, but he was still salivating after gorging himself. Uryu cleaned up nice, even if he was dressed simply in a white t-shirt, grey skinny jeans, and a blue-and-white flannel shirt, unbuttoned, the arms rolled up. It was positively laid-back-artist chic, and Shinji was currently nibbling shyly on one of the delicious crepes to distract his mind.

His chest felt all…tingly. He wasn't horny, it was more like…contentment? He didn't know what to call it. Uryu had been absolutely charming, adorable even, although he was still a little reserved, a little shy, which Shinji mirrirored for the first time in his life.

Shinji had never, ever been shy. Ichigo had always told him it was one of his strong points, as well as a weak point. Sometimes he was a little too crass, a little too blunt, which turned people off. Shinji knew he used it as a weapon to keep himself from getting attached to others; Shinji was a naturally passionate person. He got hurt too easily, so it was a quick mechanism to fall back on.

But Uryu…Shinji really hadn't expected Uryu to be so serious, to really, truly, want to be with him, to come after him. Shinji was a master at running, and so far, he hadn't had the inclination or the desire to even start off at a brisk jog.

It was scary, but a little bit wonderful at the same time.

"Shinji? Is everything okay?" Uryu asked. The tone was uncharacteristically soft, making Shinji's face flush an even more obnoxious shade of red.

Shinji's mind was a whirlwind. He was scared, maybe, definitely a little confused, and he had never been one to hold things in.

"Why do you like me?" Shinji snapped heatedly, but it came out almost like a hiccup. He looked at Uryu despite his blush, "Why are you working so hard? I'm trying my damndest not to like you, and you're just…you're just…a persistent brat!"

Shinji fell back in the grass, ignoring his outstretched legs that were now probably messing up the picnic blanket. Uryu was an extremely clean individual, which was in complete contrast to Shinji's neurotic disorderliness.

"You're strong," Uryu began, not moving from his spot on the other side of the picnic blanket, "You're creative and decisive: which is quite the feat given your spontaneous nature. You care deeply for those closest to you and defend them to the death. You don't care what others think of you, and when you yawn, your nose crinkles up. It's really adorable."

Shinji sat up slowly as Uryu continued the list, not sure if he should be embarrassed or flattered. Uncomfortable with the sudden tightness in his chest, Shinji fell back on the first snide remark he could think of, "You sound like a stalker."

Uryu was sitting Indian style, his hands resting on his knees as he smiled at Shinji. Shinji felt like a fish out of water, practically gurgling at the attractive smile.

_Uryu smiling. Uryu…smiling…brain…shutting…down…_

"Stop it!" Shinji practically shrieked, throwing a temper tantrum as he crossed his arms over his chest, "Look, I don't know what I was thinking. This is insane, this is just crazy, this isn't like me at all. I can't fall for somebody like you! You're not the stuck-up, snobby sweater vest wearing geek with a Lolita fetish that I thought you were, and seeing you be all smiley and complimentary and nice is just throwing me off, alright? This…I don't like this at all."

Uryu was silent for what felt like eternity before Shinji dared to look at him, beginning to hate himself for his fiery temper. He was running scared, and that thought made him more pissed off then the fact that he might actually return some of Uryu's feelings and affections. Shinji had always been an emotional creature, always falling headlong into things too fast, even if he had never had a decent relationship. He could hear Ichigo teasing him in his subconscious about how he was crushing on a good, sweet nerd for once in his life instead of the dangerous bad boys he was used to chasing.

Uryu finally took a deep breath and let it out slowly, removing his glasses and focusing his dark blue eyes on Shinji, his face serious, "I like you. I'm a sadist in my affections; I've always had that problem. When I am sincerely attracted to someone, I treat them like dirt. At first. I like to tease, but I don't want to tease any more. I was also avoiding confronting my feelings due to the stress of this semester, and I was unsure of your real relationship with Kurosaki. I'm desperately jealous of him, but I knew the only way to insure you never picked up on my feelings was to help him out when he needed it. Maybe a part of me hoped you would be jealous of the time I spent helping him with projects, I don't know, but I'm tired of pretending I don't want you: I'm a lot more aggressive then I look, Shinji-kun."

Shinji felt goose bumps racing up and down his arms and spine as Uryu stared at him intently, not mincing his words. God Shinji could just melt all over the picnic blanket. Shinji briefly wondered if Uryu's glasses were some kind of magical barrier that kept his inner-dominant-seme self locked away and replaced him with gooey, sappy, desperate-for-your-attention Uryu that was also balanced out with the I-will-always-be-better-than-you Uryu that his father had trained him to be.

But it was the first sentence that had made Shinji listen to Uryu's calm explanations. Shinji remembered telling Ichigo that maybe Uryu had a thing for him, but now he came to find that Uryu was simply trying to avoid Shinji the entire time? Even trying to make him jealous? Well that certainly explained a lot.

"Um, that explains a lot, actually," Shinji said lowly, rubbing at his forearm in embarrassment, averting his eyes before thinking it through and looking at Uryu in what was almost annoyance, "You thought me and Ichigo had something going on? _Puh-lease_, like that's never been thought of before. Be a little more original, will you? We've been buddies since diapers!"

"Attraction knows no bounds," Uryu said sagely, his eyes still piercing, but his face softened slightly as he stared at Uryu before he got up as nimbly and quickly as a ninja and offered Shinji his hand, "Come on. This date's not over yet."

"Where are we going?" Shinji asked, taking his hand and being brought to his feet fast enough to give him vertigo.

Uryu kissed Shinji's knuckles, making Shinji's legs shake slightly, "I'm going to prove to you that this is not a joke, that I genuinely like you, that I'm only looking at you and nobody else and I want you to feel the same way."

"How are you going to do that? And where?" Shinji said, swallowing hard as Uryu began to lead him away.

"My room," Uryu said simply, offering Shinji a smirk he didn't trust at all, "After all, I only have one week to work with."

* * *

Shinji had never been in Uryu's dorm room. He had pictured it this clean, this organized, though. Shinji could see the entire floor, nothing to make him stumble. A large book shelf was arranged in alphabetical order, everything from Chuck Palahniuk novels in English to thick textbooks for different college courses. Fashion magazines lay in a neat pile on a corner of the desk, along with several color samples. The walls were covered in quotes arranged in neat lines, some of them in what looked like big Sharpie marker to tiny, hand written pencil marks in kanji and English alike. Most of them were inspirational, or sagely, or just about creativity and imagination.

Shinji smiled as he read some that were obviously song lyrics, some of them sappy, some of them sad. He hadn't known Uryu had such a variety of tastes.

Uryu had asked him to take a seat wherever he liked, so he had plopped down in the swivel desk chair because he had been too nervous to sit on the perfectly made dark blue bed spread.

Uryu was turning back from the closet, an acoustic guitar in his hands.

Shinji's eyebrows lifted to the sky, "I didn't know you played guitar."

"I didn't," Uryu confessed, his ears red from embarrassment, "but Kurosaki and I started talking about music on one of our project breaks, and he mentioned how much you liked acoustic songs. So…so I started taking lessons a few months ago."

Shinji's mouth dropped open as he watched Uryu settle on the edge of his bed, guitar in his lap, hair covering his face as he began to strum, "So I…so…I wanted to play this for you."

To say Shinji was totally blind-sided was an understatement. Coming back to his dorm room had had Shinji's mind floating with many different possibilities, possibilities that had involved a mega-make out session, or something along those lines, possibly even sex, a seduction, or something, but this?

But this? _This?_ This was too fucking adorable, and Shinji's chest tightened again as Uryu began, Shinji not recognizing the song but he understood enough English to have his heart melt:

_"You say that Gainesville's got no soul, well that sounds like a good excuse for coming home. _

_And all these Tallahassee skylines, they keep singing our song, and now it's your song…they've been singing all night long…"_

Shinji sat, transfixed, Uryu's eyes on his fingers, his hands shaking slightly as he tried to keep the tempo going.

_"…I'll sing every song and ruin it if it'll make you want to stay…and it'll say that I miss you, and these words…they'll convince you…"_

Shinji's eyes widened, his face feeling overheated as he continued to listen to Uryu's emotional voice.

"_And I can call you baby doll all the time, and you'd whisper in my ears you'd say 'I miss you, boy', sing it over again and over again and over again…_

_And I can call you baby doll all the time, and you'd whiser in my ears you'd say 'I miss you, boy', sing it over again and over again and over again…"_

Shinji swallowed, his pulse feeling like it was pounding in his throat. Shit. Shit shit shit shit shit.

_"So you'd say…that I miss you…and these words…they'll convince you…_

_and I'm open as I kiss youuuu…And I can call you baby doll all the time, and you'd whisper in my ears you'd say –"_

Shinji moved quickly, standing up and putting his hands over Uryu's, stopping the music. Uryu craned his neck up, his eyes questioning and let out a gasp as Shinji's lips met his.

Fire instantly ignited in Shinji's gut as his hands moved up to cup Uryu's face, his tongue slipping into Uryu's mouth. Shinji pulled back a minute later, both of them huffing for air.

"_Ba-BAKA!"_ Shinji said, slapping Uryu's forehead lightly with the palm of his hand, Uryu's face almost bewildered, "You can't – you just – I can't believe you just _did_ that. Have you been reading shoujo? Or is it the Korean dramas, because I'm secretly in love with those too and you can't be this cute with me it's my greatest weakness -"

"You're cute," Uryu said seriously, one of his hands reaching up to twirl a piece of Shinji's silk blonde hair.

"Shut up."

"You're adorable."

"Stop it!"

_"Kawaiiiii,"_ Uryu said with a grin before standing up and pecking Shinji on the nose. Shinji practically squealed at the action.

Shinji lifted his hands, pressing them against Uryu's chest, his fingers tightening in the front of his shirt, Uryu so close he could smell Uryu's aftershave. Uryu's arms settled around Shinji's neck in a harmless hug, making Shinji feel like his heart was going to beat right out of his chest.

He was completely taken aback by all the affection, the innocent touches. They were making him dizzy. He was used to sex and foreplay, but this, this was a totally different experience that had Shinji craving more.

"I like this side of you, too," Uryu said sincerely, still holding Shinji close, "The blushing and stuttering is even more cute than I initially realized."

"Shut up," Shinji mumbled, laying his forehead against Uryu's shoulder. Uryu was a little taller: Shinji would have to get on his tiptoes to kiss him properly.

That thought made Shinji's blush even harder. Shit, when had he turned into such a pansy? He was gay, but he was still a guy, for Christ's sake!

Mind made up, he reached up on his tiptoes to kiss Uryu on the lips, a quick brush of lips that would hopefully have Uryu craving more before he pushed Uryu back, watching him stumble back against his bed, watching Shinji curiously.

"Call me," Shinji said, strutting out Uryu's bedroom door before he lost all sense of control and his feigned cool, "Or else. Got it?"

Uryu was still lying back on the bed, propped up by his elbows, his slow, sideways grin making Shinji's pants suddenly very tight and uncomfortable, "I'd like that."

* * *

"So, how'd it go?" Ichigo said, watching his best friend traipse into the dorm room in a daze.

Shinji collapsed onto his own bed, face in the pillow, his voice muffled.

"Sorry, could 'ya run that by me again?" Ichigo said sarcastically, setting down the car magazine he'd borrowed from Grimmjow's stash at the garage. He had his own date with the blue haired boy that night, but he was still curious about how Shinji was developing with Uryu. It was still really strange, maybe even a little awkward for Ichigo to take in.

Shinji turned onto his side, his cheeks red enough to make Ichigo grin like an idiot.

"Ichi…he might be The One."

Ichigo burst into laughter, putting a hand over his mouth until he could calm down enough to take in Shinji's appearance. Ichigo had seen Shinji claim a boy to be The One enough times to know he was just smitten at the moment. But, it wasn't like Ichigo could judge him, either. If anybody deserved some actual happiness in the romance department, it was Shinji.

He looked so…so middle-school-girl-crush right now.

"What did he do?" Ichigo asked curiously.

Shinji put his hands over his face, sucking in a huge breath before looking at Ichigo, "He serenaded me. With a guitar. He called me a baby doll. What the fuck, Ichi? Who does that?"

Ichigo didn't even laugh, but his smile was big enough to rival his blue-haired boyfriend's, "Shit, who knew Uryu was such a romantic?"

Shinji flopped his face back into his pillow, sighing deeply.

_Shit, he really was a goner, huh?_


	10. Update

**WELCOME TO THE EDITED VERSION OF TEAR IT UP~ yah yah yah**

I took 3 hours out of my non-existent life to clean this fiction up, so it reads much, much more smoothly then the first go. I'm actually quite embarrassed by this fic as I can see how much more my writing has improved since then. Oh well. Re-reading this actually made me laugh and say, "I wrote that? Really?" I laugh way too much at my own jokes. I find Shinji utterly adorable in this fic, even though I fed him his lines, I feel like he's still a character personality I will never quite claim in the same way for another fiction. It's strange how you react to different characters in different fics, especially as the writer and not a reader.

**Anyways, I did a lot of editing and finally got myself back into the universe. I hope you enjoy the new chapter and since it has been a very, very long time since the last update for this story (8 months? Longer?) I highly suggest re-reading it.** It's lengthy (the first few chapters were 7,000+ words and started to dwindle as it went along...) but it is probably worth it to get the most out of this, I think.

Mah mah, now I'm rambling again. **Enjoy, or don't, whichever. I'm trying to clean up my stories and finish them off so that I don't feel so horrible. I'm in a mood to be organized, so apologies. I'm working on a few different things right now and I will post as soon as I'm finished with them. And, if you have any complaints, I hope you check out my updated profile page. It does a lot more ranting then what I'm going to put here which should smooth a lot of stuff out.**

**I hope to finish this fic (along with a few others) within the next few months. I think I can do it. I believe in myself this time! Heh.**

**Ja ne ~ The Petulant Prodigy [or] Kill**


	11. Lust

**Hope you enjoy. This story will be wrapped up soon. -TPP**

* * *

**Tear It Up**

**Chapter 10: Lust**

* * *

"Yo, you gonna help me or what?" Nnoitra grouched, holding out his long arm and beckoning for the tool he had just asked for.

Apparently Ichigo was doing a shit job of keeping his eyes off of his blue haired boyfriend who was talking body work with Starrk off in the corner of the garage, a side project for one of their own, the mysterious Urahara that Ichigo had yet to meet. The "parts" dealer was apparently eccentric and wanted his new car to match. Not only did he want the classic muscle car to be painted an obscene sparkly green, he wanted Grimmjow and the crew to gut his new baby and create multiple compartments that were easily concealed.

Should have been a red flag right there, but if the guys trusted him, so did Ichigo.

Even if Urahara was beginning to sound like a black market contraband man, Ichigo knew that he had to be a decent guy. From what he'd heard over the past weeks, the man was pretty much a father figure to the boys, or at least an older brother or uncle.

"Oi, don' make me come up there!" Nnoitra threatened, voice rising higher.

"Oh, my bad," Ichigo said, picking up a weird-looking thermometer thingy and passing it to the splayed-out tall as fuck mechanic who was currently slipped under his own car.

"What's that thing for, anyway?" Ichigo asked, totally oblivious. No matter how many "baby steps" Ichigo took with the world of cars, he was still pretty lost.

Nnoitra snorted, "An oil dip stick. I'm changin' the oil, dumb ass."

Ichigo furrowed his brow, annoyed, "You need to get laid, man."

"Shut up, safety cone. Not all of us are chasing dick."

"Well maybe you should," Ichigo said, unable to keep his eyes off of his boyfriend who had chosen at that exact moment to lock eyes with him across the garage, "I heard it's pretty fantastic."

"Che, whatever, strawberry."

"Good luck with the oil thing," Ichigo mumbled before crossing the garage and trying not to look pitiful while Starrk and Grimmjow continued their car talk.

Seriously, Ichigo loved these guys, was becoming good friends with each of them and he was growing very close to Grimmjow, but he couldn't catch up to these dudes or even begin to fathom the love they had for these machines.

And he felt like a complete idiot for even thinking he could integrate into this world. It wasn't him.

"Nnoi's got a steady hand," Ichigo heard Starrk say as he ran a hand through his shoulder length hair before putting it up in a ponytail, "He'd do a good job for Urahara."

"But Kisuke wants something fresh. Nnoi doesn't do good freestyle," Grimmjow said, pulling out a piece of paper from a binder and beginning to pencil something, "If it was just words he wanted airbrushed, no problem, but he wants an image, and I have no ideas for the dude."

Starrk shrugged one shoulder, "Dunno what else 'ta tell you. Besides a basic paint job, I'm useless in that department."

"What 'bout Einstein?"

"He's swamped in the electrical right now."

Grimmjow ran a hand over his face, "Whatever. We can deal with it later. It's the last thing to finish up anyway."

"Can I help?" Ichigo perked up, unable to help how much he had eavesdropped.

Airbrushing? Paint? Design? Why not? Ichigo knew fuck-all about the cars themselves, but design? Color? Oh yeah, this was definitely his department.

Grimmjow gave him a lopsided grin, "Totally forgot I had an art prodigy in here."

Ichigo couldn't help the blush, which made Starrk chuckle.

"Leave the art genius to it, then. I'm gonna check on Einstein."

Starrk ambled off towards the break room while Grimmjow pulled up a stool to show Ichigo a few scribbles he'd come up with.

Ichigo couldn't help but giggle at the poorly drawn little scratches. He wasn't sure what one of them was supposed to be, but the other looked kind of like a rooster with a cloud, or maybe a carrot.

"The base color is non-negotiable, but he gave us free range on the image. He wants airbrushing on the driver's side. No clue what, though. He's never specific about anything, so this is starting to piss me off."

Ichigo couldn't help but laugh, "Grimmjow, I've seen you rip an entire car apart and put it back together."

"Yeah, the physical stuff is a breeze, but this artsy stuff: we usually fall back on stickers and simple paint line work. Nothing too fancy. We have an airbrush machine, although I'd be amazed if the fucking thing still works."

"Where's it at?"

It seemed like Ichigo had finally found a niche. He spent hours with the damned airbrushing machine as Grimmjow's crew went about the other cars and dealing with engines and whatever else Ichigo didn't understand. Grimmjow had passed him the heavy box with little more than a 'good luck' before delving into another project that didn't involve creativity.

Ichigo had smiled like an idiot before finally deciding he didn't have to sit around the garage bored out of his skull anymore. The airbrush machine was probably about ten years old, but the tips were still in good condition and the tubing just needed to be flushed out. Some of the paint had gone bad, but Ichigo still had good range on others. He'd cleaned the machine out meticulously, than started working on thinning the paint. The strainer was old as hell, but it got the chunks out until Ichigo had white paint that was as smooth and as consistent as skim milk.

He practiced on cardboard he'd commandeered from the break room for another hour and a half, making nonsensical designs but practicing shading and depth. Different tips for the gun offered different techniques and range. He'd only ever used an airbrush machine once or twice in high school to highlight some areas on some landscape paintings. It was a cool effect, but Ichigo had never gotten super comfortable with it because he didn't have the patience for all the work that went into setting up, maintaining, and breaking down the machine.

But the "process" itself was similar to graffiti, in a way. Which Ichigo had had plenty of experience with in middle school thanks to a few idiot friends.

"Whoa."

Ichigo nearly jumped out of his skin at the sound of another human being. When he got in the zone, he was oblivious to the outside world.

"Nearly scared the shit out of me, Shuhei."

"My bad," Shuhei said, watching Ichigo over his shoulder as Ichigo highlighted some red onto a planet. He hadn't planned on making a galactic mural, but he'd kept playing with circles until the idea just took off. He'd actually messed up with the white and sprayed the gun at an odd angle, wondering what the effect would look like, and had been pleasantly surprised when it came out looking like a comet shooting across the black cosmos, hurtling deep into space. It was hard to describe, but Ichigo had run with the concept after that.*

"This is kick ass, man," Shuhei murmured, taking in the different planets and the bold colors.

"Grimm's worried about the Urahara commission, so I want to help however I can."

"You ever airbrushed a car before?"

Ichigo shook his head from side to side, sighing, "Nope."

"Well shit, if this is what you can do to cardboard, no doubt you're going to sweeten up Urahara's new ride."

"Thanks, man."

"Seriously. If you're worried about it, we've got a junker out back you can practice on."

Ichigo's face lit up at the challenge, "That'd be sweet."

Shuhei grinned before disappearing to find Grimmjow and give him the news.

Grimmjow came back a few minutes later with Nnoi and Starrk in tow, all of them staring at the galactic universe that had so much layered depth it could be a window.

"We're hangin' it in the break room," Nnoitra decided, his verdict final, "Thing's too bad ass for Starrk's living room."

"It's definitely going in my living room," Starrk said, giving Nnoitra an uncharacteristically aggressive facial expression.

"Guys, I can paint you whatever you want," Ichigo said, holding up his hands to keep the guys from fighting.

"Could you do some wolves with a full moon? Hal says when we're married, she'll let me keep my man cave," Starrk said. His voice was so mellow yet serious everybody broke out laughing.

"I want a naked chick. Or two. Or three," Nnoitra said with a lecherous leer.

"I want a fox," Shuhei said, "A silver one."

Ichigo didn't understand the look Starrk gave Shuhei, but he told him he'd try his damndest to paint all of their commissions. It would give him something to do in the shop.

"After you practice a while on that piece of shit Chevy out back, you're doing Urahara's," Grimmjow decided, kissing Ichigo briefly on the lips.

"Your man's got mad skills," Shuhei said with a grin before retreating back to his laptop and Nnoitra announced loudly that he was fucking starving and Starrk groaned because he was JUST SO TIRED.

Ichigo's stomach rumbled. Damn, painting had definitely taken its toll on his stomach.

* * *

About an hour later and after everybody had eaten their share of tacos, Shinji had finally arrived with his boyfriend and insisted on blasting his ipod with the newest Lady Gaga to get everybody back into a working mood.

"Turn that shit off!" Nnoitra screeched, hating anything that wasn't rock or rap with a passion.

"Make me!" Shinji challenged, sticking out his tongue.

"Shinji, maybe it's not a good idea to piss off the pirate," Uryu warned lowly, adjusting his glasses farther up his nose.

"What'd you say, four eyes?" Nnoitra bellowed, getting into the relaxed boy's face.

"I'm sorry, I can't hear you above this ravishing music," Uryu deadpanned, hoping he would confuse the giant into leaving him alone.

Nnoitra raised an eyebrow, still looking quite menacing, but eventually stalked off to try and finish whatever the hell it was he was doing on his car that day.

Shinji giggled and leaned into Uryu's side, planting a kiss on his cheek, "You're such a stud."

Uryu just smiled and grasped Shinji's hand as they sat on the leather couch they'd pulled out of the break room. It had taken Ichigo a couple of weeks to get used to the idea that Uryu really didn't have a grudge against either of them, had simply been trying to figure out his feelings and how to address them.

Ichigo could relate. It had been hard as hell trying to understand Grimmjow.

He'd honestly never seen Shinji this relaxed. Uryu had a calming effect on him, which was always a good thing. Shinji's mouth was still unstoppable, but somehow he seemed much more mellow and harder to rile up. Besides, Shinji lived to piss Nnoitra off, and vise versa. If Ichigo had money, he'd bet it all that Shinji and Nnoitra would actually consider each other friends.

And everybody seemed to be getting along fine. The two worlds of friends were connected through Grimmjow and Halibel, so the fashion and the cars didn't seem to clash too much (although Nnoitra and Grimmjow had made sick faces when Shinji had shown up to the shop with tons of fabrics, claiming he wanted to makeover the garage and break room).

He was watching too many home decorating shows again.

"I'm already a fashion designer, but one day I may want to be a home brand. I'm gonna surpass that bitch Martha Stewart!" Shinji had sworn venomously not too long ago.

Grimmjow had just grabbed him a beer when he heard a car pull up outside the garage, tooting a horn.

The gang slowly made their way outside, the light starting to die in the sky as it got closer to nightfall.

Shuhei whistled before jacking the hood up, practically salivating as he studied the internal organs of the machine. The driver got out, a very, very, very large and intimidating man with a shark grin that made Ichigo start to panic inside.

The man was absolutely gigantic, with a scar running down one of his cheeks. His black hair was just past his shoulders, his smile that much more intimidating thanks to that jagged white scar, his eyes the color of expensive whiskey.

"Yo, boys," the man said, closing the door to the impressive low blue car and chuckling at Shuhei who was still rooting around under the hood.

Grimmjow laughed at Ichigo's expression, leaning into him to whisper, "Kenpachi Zaraki, head of our department. He's a fucking teddy bear."

"He looks like he eats teddy bears," Ichigo murmured back as the hulking man approached the front of the garage.

He was still nice to look at, though. A rough man was still an attractive man, especially since Ichigo could tell the man worked out, or was one of the sons of Zeus or Hercules or something. Even if he was dressed professionally for the campus office today in black slacks and a collared green shirt, it was half unbuttoned, revealing the tops of the scarred muscle beneath.

What the fuck did this guy do in his spare time? Bench press tigers?

"Where'd 'ya get this sweet piece, KZ?" Nnoitra said, sidling up next to his favorite professor and bumping knuckles with him, "Know for a fact this university ain't dishin' out enough dough for this."

Kenpachi's laughter boomed, almost scaring Ichigo enough to make him hide behind Grimmjow. Ichigo was no wuss, but this man seriously looked like he could eat him, bones and all.

"I ain't tellin' 'ya shit, Stick. Just know that it's a new toy," Kenpachi said with that scarily (sexy?) grin, "but I thought'cha guys could look it over. Knew Einstein would be itchin' 'ta tear it apart. Thinkin' a' takin' it out 'ta Hueco Mundo."

Ichigo's eyes went wide: a college professor street racing? Really? Maybe this guy was cool after all.

Nnoitra barked with laughter, hitting Zaraki on the arm, a stupid move in Ichigo's opinion, "She looks legit. Come on, man, tell me where ya got it."

Zaraki's smile didn't waver, "It was a present."

Everybody's eyes bugged at that.

"Who do I gotta fuck 'ta get something like this?" Einstein asked, his voice low and awed like he was inside a church, "Seriously, KZ, this is insanity."

"Come on, Einstein," Starrk chuckled, "What's the diagnosis?"

Shuhei blew out a breath, hands in the pockets of his light grey jumper as he began, "A 1994 Toyota Supra TT with a 2JZ engine. With a factory crank tied to Carillo rods and JE forged pistons, the displacement remains at 3 liters. Feeding it is a whopping Presson 98 turbocharger with a 50mm external wastegate and a five-inch gas-fabricated custom exhaust and muffler at one end and a fuel supply of sufficient dimensions at the other. Fuel is fed to the Hypertune 12-injector race manifold fed by a Weldon DBA fuel pump and a dozen 1600cc Indy Blue injectors. This all gets incinerated by a 16-volt MW CDI ignition with one of Haltech's wildly effective Platinum 2000 ECUs."

Everybody was silent as Zaraki continued to smile like the cat that got the canary cage.

"Uh…so it's a fucking beast?" Ichigo finally stuttered, not understanding a single WORD that had just came out of the kid's mouth.

"It's _the_ beast. Fucking incredible, man. A true racer's wet dream."

"Careful, Einstein. Think you're forgetting something," Grimmjow practically purred, moving a few feet to the side to slide his hand along the left edge of his own ride, a black and elf green 2000 Nissan Skyline GT-R.

Nnoitra laughed, "Yer shit's a baby compared to the Supra! A meager 1000 horsepower, but the Supra's 2JZ is packing a jaw-breaking 1400 ponies under that sexy, long sweeping hood. A jewel of the Japanese tuning world."

Grimmjow's grin was about ready to eat his face, "But my baby's superior because of its suspension, not 'ta mention the handling is far superior to that of the Supra. But, gotta give it 'ta ya, the Supra would leave me chokin' on dust in a straight drag, _if_ it got enough traction at the start."

"Careful, boys, 'yer gonna gimme a boner."

"Shit, KZ, I already came," Shuhei mumbled, still staring in at the engine like it was the world's biggest cock.

Everybody chuckled at that, especially Shinji. Even though Shinji had understood just about as much car talk as Ichigo had.

"So this weekend, then? I wanna see this Mona Lisa in action," Starrk said, walking over and opening the driver's side to take a seat. He'd probably be asleep in a minute or so.

Zaraki shrugged, "Why not? Ain't got no plans."

"Me either," Grimmjow said, his grin a twin of Zaraki's, "Been a while since I've been excited for a race."

Everybody kept chatting amongst each other, more car talk or, in Shinji's and Uryu's case, pretending to know what the hell was being said when Ichigo tugged on Grimmjow's hand and led him back into the garage towards the break room.

"Everything okay?" Grimmjow asked, his voice dropping to serious.

Ichigo's skin was on fire, his face flushed as he mumbled, "That was hot."

"Huh?"

"I don't understand car talk, but shit, Grimmjow, that was…so hot," Ichigo murmured, his fingers twining into the front of Grimmjow's dirty white tank.

Grimmjow smirked, leaning down into Ichigo's face, "Yeah? Ya like that?"

"Like another fucking language. It's…sexy."

"Hn, another language, huh?"

Ichigo thought he'd hyperventilate as Grimmjow's breath ghosted against his ear.

He murmured something into his ear, something that didn't sound at all like Japanese or English.

Ichigo shivered, "What the hell…?"

"Haven't spoken it since I was a kid, but I still remember some of it."

Ichigo thought about his name, then smiled before sliding his hands down Grimmjow's sides, stopping at the top of his jeans, "German?"

Grimmjow licked the top of Ichigo's ear, making him shiver, _"Ja. Dir oder zur mir?"_

Ichigo finally gave in and kissed him, knowing it was a bad idea to get hard when a bunch of people were right outside and they could get caught any minute.

"Babe, I have no fucking idea what you just said."

Grimmjow chuckled, squeezing at Ichigo's ass, making him squeal, "I said _'your place or mine'_?"

Ichigo gasped, "Shit, mine. It's closer."


	12. Quick Announcement

Quick Announcement

Hey guys sorry I've dropped off the face of the planet (or so it seems). I'm not even going to bullshit you, I've been working and trying to figure out how to tackle fall since I'm graduating and have to do something with my life now, but I PROMISE I'm not giving up my fan fiction writing. All stories WILL be finished in their own time, so no worries on that battlefront.

Any who, I know you're pissed that this isn't an actual update, but I wanted to get the word out because I forgot to and now it's only in a few weeks, so I wanted to give you guys a head's up in case any of you are in the area.

I'll be hosting a MATURE fanfiction panel called "Perverts Anonymous" at Mizu Con in Miami, Florida. The con is August 17-19, and the panel will be that Saturday night, the 18th. Not sure what time yet, but I'll be at the con, so if any of you guys are near me, please come say hi. I can't wait for the panel: it'll be a really good time. I'll be hosting other panels that weekend too. I know this is the internet and people are spread all over the place, even other countries, but just wanted to share. Check out the official Mizu Con website for more details about who's attending and what's going on: it was my favorite con last year, so I know it's going to be fun.

Thanks guys and I'll be updating soon! I'm going to try my hardest to get as much material out as possible before the fall semester starts as I'll be substitute teaching brats in middle school and high school on top of weaseling my way into grad school, so hold tight! I won't forget about my stories: I know they seem to take forever, but leaving reviews like "update soon" and "you haven't updated in forever are you ever going to finish" only pressures me and makes me go do other things besides write. I'm also working on original short fiction for publication, so please avoid making me grumpy.

Thanks for sticking with me so far. -TPP


	13. Side Bonus Chapter

_**A**/N: I haven't been writing lately, so I went through my files to see if I had anything stowed away. Sometimes I start writing something just to experiment with characters, and I found this. Soon as I'm back in the writing boat I'll finish this story up. Until then, hope you enjoy what I pulled out of the dust._

**Also, updated my profile with some important stuff. -TPP**

* * *

Tear It Up: Side Bonus Chapter

* * *

Grimmjow stared up at the sky from the park bench. He felt sweaty, clammy, jumpy.

He hated this dream. It always made him…he didn't know.

The anticipation of it was worse than the actual dream itself. He knew that, but he was helpless to get out of it.

So he waited on the park bench because that's where the conversation always happened. Every time.

Cigarettes materialized in Grimmjow's hand. He didn't remember picking them up, then again, it was a dream.

He stuck one to his lips, patting his pockets for a lighter.

A pale hand stuck out it's hand, upturning it's thumb like it was going to hitchhike. The thumb let out a blue flame, lighting Grimmjow's much-needed cigarette.

Grimmjow exhaled, his eyes finally dragging up to his beloved brother's face.

"Cuatro," Grimmjow breathed, slumped with his hands on his knees as his dead best friend took a seat on the bench next to him.

He looked exactly the same. Of course he did. He was dead. Maybe paler, a little too pale to look natural in the real world, but his eyes were the same incredible jade green.

"Hey, Grimm," he said, his voice soft.

It tore at Grimm's insides. He hated this. He hated feeling like he was real.

He hated himself.

Cuatro stared at him. Grimmjow couldn't meet his eyes. He finished his cigarette and flicked it away from himself.

"I dunno what you want me to say," Grimmjow began, the lines almost rehearsed. He'd probably had this dream as many times as he'd had the dream about the memory of Cuatro's burning death.

Sometimes he even dreamed he was in the car with him when it happened.

It should have been him. He should be the one dead, not his brother. Not his best friend.

This is where the dream got bad. This is where the black hole in his stomach started to spread, started to hurt. He hated it.

The pain wouldn't stop until Ulquiorra put his hand on Grimmjow's shoulder. Instant relief.

"You're an idiot," Cuatro said, lighting a cigarette for himself and leaning back on the bench, spreading his long legs out in front of him. He wasn't wearing any shoes, "It's been years, Grimm. This needs to stop."

"It's my own head, I can do whatever the fuck I want," Grimmjow growled, knowing he wasn't really talking to his dead best friend.

But sometimes, like now, he wondered if maybe he really was.

Ulquiorra snorted, blowing smoke in Grimmjow's face, "Sometimes I think I'm the one that's alive and you're the one that's dead. Not meant to work that way, hermano."

Grimmjow swallowed the lump in his throat. Ulquiorra had always been the calm, collected one. Anything he'd ever said had made sense. He'd never been rash.

"So why the fuck did you do it? Why did you go against me?" Grimmjow grunted, suddenly angry, really angry. The hole in his chest was getting bigger, eating at him. At this rate, the dream would be over really soon. It always ended when he was in the most pain.

"I was stubborn. I thought you were wrong. I thought I was better. There are a million reasons I could give you, but will any of them matter?"

"You shouldn't be dead."

"Neither should you," Ulquiorra said, poking him in the forehead like he was a brat little brother, "I'm NOT dead, Grimm. Not really. You guys keep me alive every day. Don't laugh, ass hole, you know it's true. You honor my memory. Shuhei still prays for my soul. Starrk visits my grave at least once a month. Nnoitra burns incense for me every new year. Even this Ichigo kid has prayed for my soul a few times. Kinda creepy, considering I don't know him, but he's yours, so I'll let it slide."

Grimmjow stiffened. This wasn't how the dream was supposed to go. He was supposed to be in writhing pain by now, unable to hear anything Ulquiorra was saying. Then the water, then the screaming, then finally waking up.

This was a totally different ball game.

"What?"

"You're more stubborn then I ever was. You only see what you want to see. I'm telling you to knock it off. You've got a good life going on. Don't fuck it up by worrying about how the past could have played out differently. If I don't blame you, why the fuck would you blame yourself? Idiot."

Grimmjow felt absolutely retarded, totally chastised by Cuatro right now, but the aching in his chest was dulled, more of a heartbeat now than anything else.

Ulquiorra stood up and rustled Grimmjow's hair. Grimm instinctually slapped it away. He wasn't a little kid.

Ulquiorra smiled at him. Actually _SMILED._

Smiles were so fucking rare from this kid you had a better chance of catching Big Foot.

"Kami said this is the last time I'll get to see you," Ulquiorra said. Grimmjow just stared as giant, oily black wings unfolded from Ulquiorra's back, "It's time for me to go home, Grimm. You should go home too."

Ulquiorra leaned forward, hugging his brother. The tightness in Grimmjow's chest finally caved. He wrapped his arms as best he could around his brother, the wings shadowing over him.

Ulquiorra kissed him on the forehead. It was searing hot, and then it was over.

* * *

Grimmjow jolted awake, his body confused as to where he was. He was sweating, his sheets soaked as he turned over against another heat source.

Ichigo.

He was in Ichigo's dorm room.

He wiped at his face, pissed that there were tears there. Dammit.

He got up and headed for the bathroom. He dabbed at his face with the sink water, running his hands through his hair.

He looked in the mirror, trying to make sense of the dream.

It certainly hadn't been a nightmare. Then again, Cuatro's words made his chest hurt.

Would he really be gone? Was he set free? Or had Grimmjow's subconscious decided to fuck with him?

His forehead hurt a little bit, like he had a bug bite.

He ran some water over it, but he still felt some dull pain.

He pushed his bangs back, looking in the mirror.

Flawless skin.

But Grimmjow remembered. The burning hummed right where Cuatro had kissed him.

"You're losing it," Grimmjow mumbled to himself.

He turned off the bathroom light and went back to bed, crawling in next to a snoring Ichigo.

He pulled Ichigo into his side. He didn't care if he was still sweaty and hot.

* * *

_A/N: Wait. Wait. Whoa. Wait. What was that? Good thing this is a side bonus chapter or this story runs the risk of turning supernatural._

_As for the angel/let-me-move-on cliché, come on. Considering Ulquiorra has wings in the manga I couldn't fucking help myself._

_**Again, 'preciate it if you'd check out my profile. I'll also be putting up a poll soon if this writer's block thing doesn't work itself out of my system. I haven't written a damn thing since I got my rejection letter for grad school, so maybe I'm just moping. **  
_


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